No Refuge: Volume II
by Romlus
Summary: In the wake of the events of Volume I the story continues, following the characters as they each take their own path outside the city of Refuge. On their own and far from home they struggle to survive and accept. Each new chapter in Volume II is longer than before and written in the format of short stories for the chapter's specific focus characters.
1. Chapter 01

When the sun broke through the clouds and Clementine's eyes adjusted to the sheen of the snow he set out once more. Just another day on his grand adventure. Clementine had lost track of how long it's been since he left Refuge. He stopped counting the days after his departure from Sap's farm. An eternal winter gripped the countryside of Mistral. Its icy clutch seemed a fit balance to the blistering summer they endured a few seasons past. The cold brought many to ground, seeking shelter from the snow. A hibernation. He remembered reading about the cycles when he was a child.

While many slept through the chill, Clementine noted that the brisk winds brought forth other creatures. He would catch glimpses of their large silhouettes moving through the trees. The flash of red eyes in the dark. They made for stark contrasts of black fur against the white landscape. Creatures of Grimm. They did not hibernate. They came crawling out of whatever barrow hid them and roamed free as if beckoned by winter's call. The threat of their presence was a constant danger. One in which Clementine luckily managed to avoid though there were a few close calls. Nights spent without a fire, shivering inside the split open bark of a forest tree.

Despite how isolated Clementine had become, he wasn't always alone. The road stretched out through the countryside. On its horizon lumbered a small caravan. The tracks left in its wake made it out as some kind of sleigh. However, the black tinge to the snow implied some sort of mechanical vehicle. A truck perhaps. Its tire tracks might be masked by the flattening sleigh pulled behind it. Clementine could just make out the caravan's shape taking up the majority of the road. It had been traveling ahead of him for a few days now. Just on the edges of the sloped landscape, occasionally slipping in and out of sight. Clementine thought about riding around them. However, these lands were unknown to him and the risk to his mount held him in check.

If anything happened to Vern, it would be fatal for Clementine. His life was very much in the beast's indifferent hands. Or hooves. The horse plodded along, unmindful to its rider's desire to move faster. Vern cared little for the world and even less for Clementine. He could not guess at what motivated the animal. Vern had been a gift purchased by Monnie and Merri. Supposedly a prized mount from the local stable at the hamlet where they buried Spool. A fine beast at first glance. Strong and capable. But with each passing day spent in Vern's company Clementine noticed more of its uncaring attitude.

At night when the howls of nearby Grimm pierced the dark Clementine would find Vern's eyes on him. In those moments he imaged himself being mangled and eaten by the monsters while Vern simply watched on. It had nothing to fear from the Grimm after all. Perhaps he prayed for them to come and take his rider away. Perhaps such desires were what brought the image to Clementine's mind in the first place. Perhaps…But, Clementine long since dismissed the thought. Vern didn't pray or desire anything outside his mundane needs. Vern just did not care.

Upon reaching the crest of a hill, Clementine spotted the small caravan stopped and waiting for him at the bottom. Instead of continuing on to meet them he hesitated. Why would they stop? Do they need help? Is it a trap perhaps? Some kind of bandit ambush? Such thoughts plagued his mind. Clementine found himself looking for alternative routes or places where a gang of criminals might be lying in wait. He even considered turning back and putting some distance between himself and the caravan once again. Not long ago he wouldn't have considered any of these options.

Taking advantage of Clementine's hesitation, Vern lowered his head and licked the snow. The caravan below was similar to what Clementine imagined. A truck was in its front, dragging along two hitched sleighs. The great sleighs themselves were flat and almost as wide as the road itself. The one bringing up the caboose looked to carry all the supplies, neatly strapped down to the boards. The one in front of it was heavily tented, protecting whatever laid inside from the wind.

The sheer amount of luggage on the sleighs gave Clementine pause. If they weren't bandits then they would surely attract them with such a haul they looked to be carrying. It wasn't until Clementine spotted the small form a child playing in the snow beside the stopped caravan did his suspicion dissuade. Frosting the air with a sigh, Clementine lightly kicked Vern forward.

Upon his approach the little girl playing in the snow retreated behind who Clementine assumed was her father. A fabulous mustache bedecked his lips almost as wide as his face and twisted into curls. The mustachioed man was wrapped in thick winter clothes, making him look somewhat plump in all those layers. From the tents of the first sleigh appeared a woman similarly garbed. She regarded Clementine with a hand raised to her forehead in an attempt at a wave and to ward of the sun bouncing up from the new fallen snow. Both adults were in their early thirties.

The man placed a protective hand on his cowering daughter's head. "Good morning, stranger."

Clementine reined in Vern. "Morning."

"My name is Anton Oaks. There is my lovely wife Teisha and clinging to my leg behind me is our daughter, Cori." Teisha smiled at Clementine, but Cori remained hidden behind her father's legs. Uncertainty sharpened her glare.

"Why are you stopped?" asked Clementine with some suspicion.

"Just as I'm sure you spotted us, we glimpsed you far behind. A lone rider."

"It was my idea," spoke up Teisha, "It's dangerous to travel alone, especially during this time of year. Since it seemed we were going in the same direction I thought it best to join together. We're always welcome to new company to share the road with."

"We're heading back to Kuchinashi." explained Anton.

Clementine raised a curious brow at the amount of equipment strapped to their back sleigh. "Heading Back?"

Anton rubbed his flushed neck in some embarrassment. "Yeah, you see, we just came from Refuge. I'm an inventor of sorts. I had a contract job with Vulcan Industries. We moved our whole lives down for the opportunity only to find Vulcan Industries had been shut down by the government. Not just that either. The whole city has gone belly-up. Trade stagnated. Streets in disrepair. A dead councilor. Refuge is crawling with journalists, huntsmen, and even Atlesian agents. Needless to say, we got out of there quick."

Teisha sat on the edge of the sled, her feet kicking up and down in a playful manner. "Now we just want to return home."

Clementine shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "Any idea what happened in Refuge?"

"We picked up a few pieces here and there." Shrugged Teisha, "Just rumors. Whispers of some rebellion within the city. One that led to the explosion, which devastated the districts."

"Bunch of nonsense." Said Anton, "I saw the damage firsthand. The way the ground was blown apart suggested an implosion from underneath the streets. My guess is something went wrong with the piping's underneath the city. Not sure what, but makes more sense than some terrorist attack."

"Hardly anything makes sense anymore." she chided, "Your would-be employer ran a slave mine made up of thousands. Can you imagine? All those people toiling away and for what? A few hunks of Dust?"

Anton looked away, chastised by his wife's words. Mumbling more to himself than anything, he whispered, "If I knew that then of course we never would've left home."

"We never should've left in the first place." Shot back his wife, picking up on every muttered word with uncanny accuracy. "It was a contract job, Anton. That means temporary! You should've just gone down yourself for the few months it would take and return to Kuchinashi when you finished."

"How many times must I explain myself, woman? It's not just a job. An opportunity at Refuge would've broadened my network with all sorts of connections. I'm telling you, if given the chance to show my skills to Marcus Vulcan, I'm sure he would've hired me on full time."

"You're sure," mocked Teisha, mimicking her husband's tone. "You're so confident in your skills and yet you couldn't even repair a busted engine."

"I'm not a damned mechanic, what is it you think I do?"

They continued to argue, completely forgetting Clementine was even there. The little girl Cori peered out at from behind her father's legs. Her large round eyes met Clementine's as if pleading for him to intercede. Obviously, this argument of regrets has been going on between the husband and wife the whole journey. The tension of their years spent together was felt with every spat word.

"Clementine."

Anton and Teisha stopped mid argument and turned towards him. "Come again?"

"My name is Clementine."

Both husband and wife regarded each other with a sneer. In it was a silent agreement to dismiss the argument for now and save it for later. Judging by the shared look these two savored their disagreements as if it were fine wine.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Clementine." Said Teisha, "Cori, say hi."

The little girl stepped out from behind her father's legs, "H-hello." She stammered.

"Salutations." Greeted Clementine with a smile.

Cori grew red and she rushed onto the first sleigh, disappearing behind the tent flaps.

"Sorry," said Teisha, "she's a little shy when it comes to fresh faces."

Clementine caught eyes glaring at him from the truck's side rearview mirror. Almost as soon as he noticed them, the driver snapped his attention back to the quiet road in front of them. Clementine glared in return hoping to meet the driver's gaze again, but the man refused.

 _More? Damn, I should've noticed sooner._

Anton turned to where Clementine was looking.

"Ah, yes. In the driver's seat is Rennat and his buddy next to him is Corb. We met them on the road outside Refuge. When our truck broke down they were kind enough to help fix it. Since then they've become our traveling companions."

"Are they shy as well?" asked Clementine.

"They tend to keep to themselves and that's fine by me. Rennat is a good driver and Corb keeps us safe from any trouble we come across."

"They're a little rough around the edges, but they're good men." Said Teisha, "And quite handy to. Unlike some, they can fix a busted engine."

Anton winced at his wife's jab as if a knife had been stuck in his side. Still, he ignored the insult and instead studied Clementine's face.

"I see that you're made uncomfortable around fresh faces as well. I've been around my daughter long enough to know the look when I see it. If it's not in your interest to travel with us then we will go our separate ways here. Whatever you choose, it's been a pleasure meeting you Clementine and I wish you good fortune in your travels."

Clementine remained silent for a time, his gaze fixed on the truck's side mirror where Rennat refrained from glancing back at them.

"I'm not heading to Kuchinashi," said Clementine returning his attention to Anton and Teisha, "but we'll be going in the same direction for a little while longer. I would be happy to share your company if you'd have me."

"It would be our pleasure." Said Teisha, "Perhaps you can relieve us of my husband's stale company."

"Yes," replied Anton, "traveling on your own I imagine you've been preparing your own meals. Perhaps you can share your secrets with us. God knows we need ourselves a proper cook."

Both smiled in acceptance, faces scrunching and eyes squinting. Truly a grimace in response to the wounds inflicted by their spouse. From the tent, Cori poked her head out. Witnessing her parent's expressions, she rolled her eyes and disappeared back inside.

They made good distance that day. Clementine rode Vern alongside the pulled sleighs. Anton and Teisha spent the day snapping at each other. Back and forth they went. Nothing held back. Every insult provoked another retaliation. They dueled each other with words. Parry, lunge, deflect, counter riposte. Despite the harsh words shared between them, they smiled at each other and not a hint of their anger touched their voice when speaking to their guest or daughter. Clementine honestly couldn't tell if they were bickering or flirting.

Cori spent the majority of the day hidden away in the tent. She came out occasionally, each time staying a little longer. Clementine passed the hours in idle conversation with Anton and Teisha. He thought about approaching Rennat and Corb in the front, but they rolled up their windows as soon as the day's trek began. Those two seemed to value their privacy, which was fine. Clementine had patience.

Anton as it turned out was a weather man in truth. But he aspired to be more. He wouldn't explain his inventions in detail either because he coveted their secrecy or didn't wish to bore his guest with shop talk none would understand. All Clementine knew was that Anton wished to combine his work with the nature of Dust to some unknown end. He must've been confident for the man took up a mundane contract job at Vulcan Industries just for the chance to show off his inventions to Marcus Vulcan in person.

Teisha was far more open than her husband. She was a teacher who helped set up schools for the less fortunate in Kuchinashi. Clementine judged her to be a kind and fair woman. He was glad for her company.

When the sky turned a burnt orange, they found a small alcove within sight of the road and made camp. After unloading his sleeping pack and feeding Vern, Clementine joined the others at the cookfire. Rennat and Corb were silent partners amongst the Oaks family. Rennat was a nondescript young man with wandering eyes. His attention fluttered about as if he were consistently losing himself in thought. Clementine noted though that his gaze seemed to deliberately ignore his presence. Rennat's partner, Corb, was twice his age though far brawnier. The man kept his hunting rifle leaned against the stump he sat on like he suspected trouble at any moment. Despite this apparent alertness Corb stared into the fire while he ate. Though he wrapped himself tight in a cowl, the flames revealed hints of the man's scarred face. The two of them said nothing, not even amongst themselves.

Clementine taught the Oaks how to prepare stew like Old Gran used to make. The woman had a talent for making the best of what little ingredients she had. Thankfully, Clementine picked up a thing or two during those nights in her company. The stew came out decent enough and the Oaks provided biscuits to help soak up the excess broth. Clementine was the first to finish his bowl.

"You all good there?" asked Anton, only halfway through his stew.

Clementine leaned back with a hand slapping his belly, "This was the first real meal I've had in some time. Thank you. I've survived on nothing but oats the last few days."

"You don't hunt?"

"I can set a snare. Caught a rabbit once, but there was little meat on its bones."

Anton patted Corb on the shoulder, "Corb here is an excellent shot with that rifle of his. He catches us the meat and we do the cooking. Or at least attempt it."

"My cooking…could use some work." Admitted Teisha, "I would be the first to agree with you, Anton. I eat my slop as well. I'm just glad we found someone who can properly stir a pot."

"If you don't mind me asking." Spoke up Rennat, catching everyone by surprise. "What is it you're doing out here, Clementine? It's a poor season to travel."

"And being on your own just makes it that much harder." Added Teisha, "The Rangers used to patrol these lands. They escorted caravans along the road or, so we've heard. But they're gone now. Off to shepherd those poor souls they freed from the slave quarry."

"Come on, woman." Complained Anton, "Can't you find a better subject?"

"You don't think them worthy of conversation? Are there not valuable lessons to be learned from this mess? Or do you think what the Rangers are doing is wrong?"

Anton grumbled into his bowl, "What they're doing is right. It's just so glum. Can't talk about anything down here without broaching the steaming pile that is Refuge right now. I don't envy the Rangers. To be responsible for so many lives…I can't imagine. Cori is already too much for me and she is just one girl."

Cori shot her father a toothy grin and Anton replied with a stuck-out tongue. Both giggled and went back to their stew. Rennat's eyes did not leave Clementine. He remained, waiting for an answer to his question.

"I'm looking for someone." answered Clementine, "A friend of mine…And her sister."

"What can you tell us about them?" asked Anton through a mouth full of broth. Flecks of biscuit remained snared in his mustache as if he were saving the morsels for later.

"My friend's name is Kiera. She's twenty-four years old. She has dark skin and long curly black hair. Brown eyes so pale they look gray. She's a faunus too. Has a panther tail protruding from the base of her spine. Now Amber, her sister, is a little younger. Brown hair and golden eyes."

After a few second's consideration, Teisha shook her head. "Sorry, we've encountered just a few folk on the road and none fit either of those descriptions."

"It's alright. I didn't think it would be that easy."

Without warning Corb stood and walked off, taking his rifle and unfinished bowl with him.

Clementine narrowed his brows at Corb's sudden flight. "Where is he off to?"

"Corb likes to patrol the grounds." Said Rennat a little too hastily for Clementine's liking. "He makes sure it's all clear before everyone heads off to sleep. Then we take turns on watch through the night."

"I can take a shift." Offered Clementine.

"No-thank you. We're used to it."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite." Rennat put down his unfinished bowl and stood. "Thank you for the meal. It's getting dark so I'm going to turn in now. We should leave earlier than usual tomorrow morning. There is a storm approaching from the south and we'd do best to outrun it."

"I agree." Said Anton, "Good night, Rennat."

Rennat gave a curt nod and headed off into the truck. When he closed the driver's side door, Clementine turned to the Oaks.

"They sleep in the truck?"

"Keeps the wind out." Said Teisha, collecting the finished bowls. "I think those two are used to sleeping in a car."

Anton hurriedly slurped his stew down. He barely had time to finish it all before his wife pried the bowl from his fingers. "Where will you be sleeping?" asked Anton, after licking his curly mustache. "We can make a place for you on the sleigh. There is plenty of room."

"Actually, I'll stick with what I'm used to as well." Clementine smiled, "My horse gets worried if it loses sight of me for a prolonged time anyways. Poor thing."

"Very well, have it your way." The Oaks finished cleaning up after dinner and retreated to the sleigh. Just before Cori vanished behind the tent flaps she turned and caught Clementine's attention. She stared as if studying him before mouthing the words, _good night_.

Darkness claimed the sky and the stars came out to play. Clementine hadn't taken special interest in astronomy before. However, with each night spent looking up at the sky, his interest grew. The names of the constellations were unknown to him so he made up his own. Even wove stories to go along with sets of stars that he thought created certain shapes. A sword. A tuba. A smile. Like the clouds of summer Clementine saw many things in the wintry stars. Each night there would be a new discovery. A new story.

But not this night. This night he was busy. Clementine relieved himself from the burden of his heavy cloak, allowing easy access to the dagger sheathed behind his back. Vern gave a dismissive glance at his rider before returning to sleep. The cookfire's smoldering hearth was fast dwindling. Clementine skirted the edges of its glow, keeping to the shadows. He moved slowly, allowing himself the time to adjust his balance whenever he stepped onto his right leg.

Crouched low, he creeped past the sleighs. From the sleeping tent came a heavy snoring. At first Clementine thought it was Anton, but as he got closer he recognized the nasally sighs as Teisha's own. Each snore was met with a muttered grunt from her husband. Even in sleep the two of them bickered.

Moving past the sleighs, Clementine pressed his back against the truck side and with one hand on his dagger grip he shuffled towards the front. Peering into the passenger side mirror, Clementine glimpsed an empty seat. Taking another step forward, he peeked inside through the window. Nothing. The truck was empty. Whatever aroused suspicious Clementine held were amplified tenfold. The Oaks family were fine people. Good people. But their traveling companions were something else. There was no shaking the feeling now.

There were tracks in the snow leading deeper into the woods. Two sets of footprints. Unsheathing his dagger, Clementine followed the tracks. This time of night the snowy landscape took on a blue glow making his path a ghostly one.

Rennat may seem skittish but he was right about one thing. Storm clouds blotted out the stars to the south. No ordinary clouds either. These were large swirling maelstroms that swallowed up even the moon. Not a storm then, a blizzard. Clementine had no intention of being caught in the midst of one sharing Rennat and Corb's untrustworthy company. Whatever they were hiding and the threat it posed would be put to rest this night.

 _Have I always been this unsure of people? To be stalking the night, dagger in hand, all because of a few nervous glances and rushed words? Where had the days gone where I'd share fruit with a decrepit old stranger and thus make a friend? Blind Shan, what did you see in me?_

Clementine must've gone fifty feet when he heard the sound. A sizzling boil followed by a grunting moan. The frigid wind brought with it the scent of burning flesh. The familiar stench forced Clementine to harden his gut. Just a few steps closer and he saw them. Rennat had his sleeves rolled up past his elbow, exposing his bare left arm. Corb knelt next to his partner taking a blowtorch to the younger man's forearm. The blue flame burnt a sputtering patch of skin. Rennat bit down on a stick of wood, hardly restraining the pain that filled his face. A strong grip from Corb held Rennat's arm steady, though the man's fingers twitched relentlessly.

They were a mere ten feet away. Any further advancement would surely draw their attention. Clementine eyed Corb's hunting rifle leaning against a tree between them. Crouching as low as his crippled leg would allow him, Clementine sheathed his dagger. He would have to be quick.

Seemingly finished, with his task Corb pulled away. The blue flame of the blowtorch vanished. Rennat fell back and writhed in the snow with his burnt arm held up. In that moment of tense relief, Clementine moved, snatching up Corb's rifle.

"What the fuck?" Corb shot to his feet, reigniting the blowtorch.

Clementine aimed the rifle at the man's chest. "Don't move. Both of you."

Rennat spat out the stick and stared at Clementine with pain addled eyes. Even through the dark Clementine spotted a hint of recognition in the man's gaze. Same as when he first glimpsed Rennat spying on him through the truck's side mirror.

"Who are you people? What are you doing?"

"You want to put that down, kid." warned Corb, "Before you hurt yourself."

"Only when you answer my questions." Shot back Clementine.

Corb inched forward, but a word from Rennat stopped him. "Brock, don't."

"Brock…Corb?" Clementine gave a short-lived snicker, "What's that make you? Tanner? You should be more creative in picking new names for yourselves."

"It doesn't matter what our names are." Said the man posing as Rennat, "Whatever you're thinking it's not-"

"Shut up, Tanner." Said Brock in a low growl.

Keeping the rifle trained on the bigger man, Clementine shifted his gaze to the one named Tanner. "Where do you know me from? Hmmm? You former city guard or something?"

"Something like that." Tanner spoke through grit teeth. His face remained fixed in a grimace. Discoloration spread throughout the man's arm, stemming from the burnt patch of flesh.

"What are you two doing to each other?"

Brock straightened, readying the blowtorch in his hand. "Burning away the sins of the past."

"You mind not being so cryptic with your answers?"

"How bout you, eh _Little Sir_? Who the fuck are you, really?"

"Enough! What are you two planning?" Clementine's finger wrapped around the trigger, "To lure the Oaks into some kind of trap?"

"A trap?!" Brock's face had gone beat red, "We've been traveling with them for over a month! Don't you think we would've sprung it by now?"

The snap of branches in the woods caught all their attentions.

"Those your friends?" asked Clementine, taking a cautionary step back. "Who's out there?"

Tanner sat up. His wandering gaze darted every which way in an attempt to pierce the veil of darkness. "Whatever is out there is no friend of ours. I know how this must look but we mean you and the Oaks no harm."

"No? Just each other then? Or is burning each other's flesh just a changing of shift tradition with you two?"

There came another crinkling snap of branch this time on the other side. Either they can teleport or there were multiple things out there. Clementine thought maybe Grimm, but they wouldn't lurk this long before attacking. Besides, the red glow of their eyes would've given them away even in this twilight.

Brock whispered into the dark, "Anton is that you? Teisha? Cori?"

There came no reply. None except the crunch of snow behind Clementine. He whirled to face it but was too late. Something hard clocked him in the side of the head and he fell face first into the snow. Shadows erupted from the dark woods, pouncing on Brock and Tanner. A brawl ensued, but Clementine's vision was already fading. He had been to slow to raise his aura to protect him. To keep it up at all times drained his strength in this frigid landscape. So cold. The chill crept into his bones. Even the blood trickling down his scalp held no warmth.

Sudden shouts of alarm pierced the quiet night. The family of three were dragged from their tents kicking and screaming. After a few sharp-edged warnings their panicked yelps ceased as quickly as they started. Caryn stood on top of the newly acquired truck, watching the proceedings play out. Everything went according to her plan. An easy take after all. The assumed bodyguards had abandoned their posts and the newcomer with the horse followed suit. They left the alcove unguarded and ripe for the taking.

One of her fellow bandits danced on top of the supply sleigh eliciting laughs from the others. "This is quite the steal!" he shouted.

Caryn clapped her hands together, catching their attentions. "Enough! That blizzard will be upon us by sunrise. We need to get this stuff back as quick as possible."

The dancing bandit hopped off the sleigh and landed near the cowering family. "What's to be done with them?"

"They're not to be harmed." Ordered Caryn, "We're taking them all with us."

He shot her a sneer, "Buck won't like that."

"Then he will have to listen."

"He don't like that either." Muttered the bandit.

Caryn ignored that last comment. She wouldn't attempt to fight it for she knew it as the truth. However thickskulled he may be Buck will have to listen to her. Else they were all doomed.

He awoke to the sniffling cries of a little girl. Clementine blinked unconsciousness from his eyes and slowly sat up. His hands were tightly bound in thick rope before him. He had been stripped of his winter clothing, snow boots included. Even his heavy wool socks had been taken from him, leaving his feet bare against the cold stone floor. The rest of his party Clementine found propped against the cave wall next to him, similarly restrained.

Cori's whimpering echoed throughout the cavernous hideout they found themselves in. Her distress was a mute thing for a ringing filled Clementine's ears.

Teisha held her daughter close, trying her best to soothe the child to no avail. Anton sat directly to Clementine's left with his face buried in his hands. Past the Oaks family were their two traveling companions. Sweat beaded Tanner's drawn face. A bandage had been wrapped around the burn of his arm. A band aid for an obviously festering problem. Despite his fevered condition he still looked better than his friend. Brock sat hunched against a stalagmite, his face beaten and bruised. The bump on his forehead swelled his left eye shut.

Their captors were all around them. Few guarded their prisoners with spiteful gazes. Most were busy sifting through the Oaks' family supply sleigh, which had been dragged into the middle of the large open cavern. The Oaks were forced to sit by as all their personal belongings were rummaged through and distributed amongst the bandits.

Torchlight and campfires illuminated the cave in a flickering glow. As the ringing in Clementine's ears faded the sounds of a pitched argument came into focus. The louder of the two battling voices came from a man squatting on top of the supply sleigh. Two large ram horns sprouted from the sides his head. Great twisting points of ivory.

"Why here?!" shouted the ram faunus, "We don't need more mouths to feed!"

The smaller of the two voices stood at the bottom of the supply sleigh. She held some kind of ledger in her hands and looked busy taking inventory from the recent haul. Catching her in profile, Clementine took note of her peculiar eye. Her eyelids appeared fused, as if it were a telescope expanding and contracting, forming a small circle in its center where the glint of her pupil could be spotted. The skin of the lids and surrounding socket wasn't skin at all, but rather multihued scales. A swirling pattern of white and red like peppermint candy. The abnormally round and bulbous eye not only rotated in its socket but moved as well. The eye's ability to adjust its position in the folds of its socket allowed for rapid, jarring movement. The one eye Clementine could see swiveled, locking on him for a brief instant before snapping to something else.

The ram horned faunus smashed a wooden crate with a spike tipped cudgel. "Someone shut that girl up!"

Teisha pulled Cori into her chest, muffling her cries. Somewhat satisfied with that result the ram faunus turned his attention back to the faunus with the ledger.

"Caryn! At least keep one blasted eye on me."

The faunus woman named Caryn turned towards her comrade. "If I have to explain the importance of hostages-"

"Hostages you say? What bloody need do we have for hostages? Refuge is in shambles. No one is looking for us."

"That's where you're wrong, Buck." Said Caryn, "It's because of the chaos surrounding the land that it will be difficult to travel unnoticed. Refuge is infested now with outside forces. Grimm, Huntsmen, and Atlesians. We're bound to cross paths with them eventually. And after your actions at the Vulcan factory…"

"My actions?!" Buck rose to his full height, "I told them not to press the alarm…They pressed the alarm! What else would you have had me do? I was keeping us safe!"

"You slaughtered them!" snapped Caryn, "That massacre won't go unnoticed. Atlesians are all over Vulcan Industries like a cat with yarn. No doubt they will respond to the alarm and when they find what you left for them there they'll hunt us down for it. When the blizzard passes it will be unlikely for us to come across any more travelers. These hostages will deter any direct attack. _I_ am keeping us safe!"

"You keep telling yourself that."

Caryn sighed and closed shut her ledger, "It's a long way to Menagerie from here."

"We're not going to Menagerie."

"And what's your alternative? To roam Anima living out of caves until we're finally hunted down? I have friends in the White Fang. They can help us. Sienna-"

Buck snorted, "The White Fang? Please. Bunch of pussies. Despite what their name implies they're nothing but a bunch of weak willed protestors. You remember Vance from the middle levels?"

"All too well." She drawled.

"I was there when the Rangers put him and his gang to the sword."

"Fight by the sword, die by the sword. They got what was coming to them after what they did."

Buck grunted, "Vance was a prick. I won't argue that. But he got excommunicated just for fighting for the White Fang's foolish cause when they wouldn't."

"You and Vance have both been imprisoned for too long. The White Fang is undergoing a change. Their peaceful protests are a thing of the past."

"So the pups have finally grown claws, eh? Think they can keep us safe from your imagined threats?"

"Safety is not what I'm after." Said Caryn, gaining the undivided attention of her fellow bandits. "They'll need strong faunus like us. With the White Fang we can organize. Fight back against the humans instead of hiding from them in caves like frightened sheep."

Their argument evoked grumbling responses from their fellow bandits. There were maybe thirty or forty of them in total. A ragtag lot. Hard edged and cold were their looks. Especially when glaring at their prisoners. Bloodlust filled their eyes, making their desire plain for all to see. They each possessed their own animal attribute. Faunus. Former slaves of the Quarry.

 _Couldn't root out all the weeds could you, Captain Ashur?_

"Mr. Clementine." Anton unburied his face. The curly ends of his mustache had been crudely cut away and what remained was stained with blood from a broken nose. "I didn't think you'd wake."

"Are you alright?" whispered Clementine in response, "Your family…"

"We're unharmed for the most part." His voice trembled with fear, "They came in the dead of night. Pounced on us in our sleep. Tore us from each other's arms. What in the world do they want with us? Crazy faunus-"

The crack of a whip caught Anton on top of his head eliciting a cry of pain. "Enough talk!" sneered one of their captors as she recalled the whip. The commotion caught the attention of everyone in the cave.

"Stop it!" pleaded Teisha.

The Overseer snapped the whip out again. The clumsy attack, which was aimed for Teisha hit Anton instead. The lash broke skin and a trickle of blood splashed against the cave wall behind them. Clementine's insides swirled as if a knife were being twisted inside his gut. He grimaced at the woman with the whip. His unsavory glare was met with equal vehemence. She marched towards him, the tapered rope of the whip trailing behind her. "What you looking at?"

"You."

The back of her gauntleted palm caught Clementine across the face. "I'll ask again. What you looking at?"

The backhanded slap caused him to bite the inside of his cheek. Clementine expelled the blood filling his mouth right into his captor's face.

The woman's tongue slipped out from a gap in her teeth. The rather skinny, yet abnormally long tongue licked up the bloody spittle. She flashed a ghastly smile and punched Clementine in the face before backing away.

"You see?" said Buck addressing the bandits, "They're nothing but trouble. Best slit their throats now and be done with it."

A roar of agreement worked its way through the bandit ranks, overpowering Caryn's reason.

"There is a child amongst them, Buck." Said Caryn, "Will you be wielding that blade?"

Buck visibly hesitated and for a moment a softness came about his visage, but it was quickly broken by a sneer.

"Then we leave them when we go."

"They won't survive a week on their own."

"Then so be it!" shouted Buck.

Clementine's already fuzzy mind had been jumbled by the punch delivered onto him by the Overseer. The ringing in his ears, which he thought faded, resurfaced once more. Only it wasn't a high pitched shrill. Rather, he thought he heard music. The tolling of bells and the pluck of strings. A random chime emanating from every soul in the cavern.

"You know who you're dealing with?" growled Brock.

"Shut it." whispered Tanner, but Brock ignored him.

"Come closer and I'll show you. I'll bite your legs off!"

The long-tongued overseer lashed out with her whip. Brock caught it wrapped around his wrists. She tried to pull it back, but Brock held on causing the whip to strain taut. Their tug of war continued for a few seconds in silence before Brock grumbled a laugh.

"You don't know how to use that thing, do you? You look like a child playing with rope. I would've thought its years of use would've taught you something. I guess you're all slow learners!"

Bandits swarmed Brock, pulling him from the stalagmites and tossing him across the cave grounds. He rolled to a stop near the sleigh's base. Multiple whips lashed out at him. Brock threw up his hands to defend himself, but it was all he could do. The crack of whips filled the cavern and Cori's crying came to an ear-piercing screech.

"That's enough!" Buck jumped down from the sleigh and landed next to Brock's crumpled form. A kick to his ribs turned Brock onto his back. The whips had torn his shirt, revealing his bare skin. There, tattooed on his chest was a serpent's fangs.

"An Ophidian." Gasped Caryn.

A collective hiss escaped from the faunus bandits. Buck's smile became savage, "Forget what I said. A slit throat will be too quick for them. Seeing as we're snowed in for the time being thanks to this blizzard we might as well take our time. Enjoy ourselves…Starting with the woman."

Anton paled a ghostly shade, "No!"

"The two of us are former Ophidians!" shouted Tanner, his voice weak. "Do what you want with us, but leave them alone! They've done nothing to you!"

Brock lashed out, sinking his teeth into Buck's calf. The ram faunus bleated and bent over to wrap his fingers around Brock's neck. Managing to pry the Ophidian off his leg, Buck lifted Brock into the air.

"Oh, it's going to be so much worse now!" Buck headbutted Brock, his ram horns slamming into the Ophidian's face. Teeth clattered on the ground like rolled dice and Brock went limp. Tossing him aside, Buck moved towards Teisha and Cori. Caryn, however, put herself in his path. Their confrontation clashed with a cadence of drums in Clementine's mind.

"Stop this." Ordered Caryn. Both her swiveling telescope eyes locked onto her rival.

"You're not in charge here." Snarled Buck, "Who kept us safe from these fuckers in the mines? Who defended you against their lash?"

"You do this and you're no better than them." She shook her head, "No, you'd be worse!"

The tension between the two created a schism among the other faunus. They split and slowly gathered behind their chosen side. Like pieces on a chess board moving into place. Their passions burned bright in their souls. Clementine could feel their heat. He could almost reach out and touch it.

"This is how the world works, Caryn. Have you not realized that yet?"

"That was how the Quarry worked! But here in the real world we don't have to be animals. We can be better."

"Or stronger!"

"They had nothing to do with the Quarry!"

"Is that so?" Buck moved towards the sleigh and kicked over one of the Oaks' supply crates, spilling out scientific instruments and a vast number of blueprints. Anton's inventions. "Same sort of shit we found at the factory. They work for Vulcan! The very people who prospered off our sweat and blood!"

Caryn scanned the spilled contents of the crate, each eye moving independently from the other. "You would lump them in with Ophidians? Sentence them to death?"

"I'm done with talking." Buck spat and turned to those gathered behind him. "Restrain her."

Three faunus loyal to Buck stepped towards Caryn and three others moved to intercept them. Both trios froze, hands moving towards weapons. Clementine reached out, his fingers unlacing. The music swelled. Its discordant rhythm unhinged. The rest of the cavern remained still as if frozen in time. Such a familiar feeling. Like a breath held in anticipation. Just waiting for release. Clementine tapped his raised knee. One, two, and-

Both sides erupted in an explosion of burgeoning desire. Blades were drawn. Guns were fired, their shots ricocheting. Roars of violence were let loose from throats. Clementine could feel the hate behind them. The past slights. The years of growing discomfort in the Quarry followed by strained months of travel. He recognized their anger, no matter how petty, and coerced it forward. The fire was already there. Clementine merely fed it incendiary Dust.

Many of Buck's crew tried to get at Tanner. Their hatred for Ophidians was immeasurable. However, those loyal to Caryn stood in their way. A sting of betrayal that soured the whole pot, causing them to turn on each other with even greater ferocity. Bodies collided, and the flames of their outrage soared higher.

Rage and hatred though the majority, wasn't all Clementine found out amongst the bandit ranks. One pair embraced each other in ravenous lust. A desire long kept locked within them for reasons not even they understood. There was greed too. The more deceitful of the bunch jumped on the piles of loot they had stored and began stuffing their pockets. Any honor amongst this band of thieves and bandits was done away with in their mad rush for loot. Friends turned daggers on one another if they both went for the same prized item.

Clementine was buffeted by their desires as he had been so many times as a child standing in his attic facing a storm. He could not control the currents, but he nonetheless amplified them. Let them swarm and crackle around him as if they the lightning and he the conductor.

The long-tongued woman rushed towards Clementine. Her desire for his blood was unmistakable. He could feel it before he even saw her. Clementine did not deny her approach. He merely sat, his fingers dancing to the tune. She came into view already bloodied from murder. After a quick twist of her wrist the whip in her hand protruded a sharp blade from its pommel. She charged him, point upraised. Only ten feet away she was tackled to the ground by another who's anger smoldered a murderous red. His left eye was a bloody gash from when she had accidently whipped him not long ago. The two of them were lovers before that incident. A friendship snatched away with one misguided flick of the wrist. Those mixed feelings swirled into something volatile. The man's hands closed around his former lover's throat and squeezed. Her face darkened and that long tongue of hers darted out in asphyxiation.

Amongst the chaos that filled the cavern Clementine became acutely aware of the nuggets of fear growing right beside him.

Anton grabbed Clementine's shoulder and shook him as if trying to wake him from a dream. "What have you done to them?" Terror gripped his words.

"Whatever you're doing," said Teisha, "Keep doing it."

Clementine didn't take his eyes off the scene playing out before him. The violence of it all felt like something out of a play. He watched on as a mere spectator, but in truth he knew his role was much more than that. "Take Cori and get out of here."

Tanner helped the Oaks family to their feet. "We won't last in that blizzard."

"If any of these faunus survive themselves, then the snow may be a better fate than staying here." Clementine glanced at them. Behind her parents' protective arms Cori stared out. Her round eyes were poisoned with fear, which trickled down her face in the form of tears. But it wasn't the bandits nor their brutal slaughter of each other which frightened her so. No. The source of her terror was none other than Clementine himself. Cori's horror struck him like a hammer blow to his forehead.

"Go!" he said, his voice a rasp.

The Oaks family, Tanner included, fled. They disappeared into the dark beyond the fire's reach. Clementine hoped they knew where they were going and not just blindly plunging into the cavern's depths. With them gone he returned his attention back on the bandits.

The fighting was beginning to die down. The heat of their souls dwindled in his hands until at last Clementine's grip on them slipped. His disconnect from their temporary and fraught bond left him isolated. As if he had just opened the black pit in his gut a little wider, allowing the void to further eat away at his insides. Standing on two naked feet, Clementine stepped out onto his stage of slaughter.

The heat of the cookfire melted the ice and snow frosted to the cave stalagmites. Water dripped down from the ceiling. In extended intervals a single drop of water would fall and splatter on Caryn's forehead. She had no idea how long she laid here for. Long enough for the roar of combat echoing throughout the cavern to fade. Her measure of time came in the form of droplets fallen. Eighty-four by her count. The consistent splat of water at least helped keep her conscious.

Both of Caryn's hands were clasped around the broken tip of a ram's horn protruding from her abdomen. Buck had charged her first and foremost, impaling his longtime friend with one of his horns, which she had to break in order to be released. Caryn knew she contemplated her death more often than most. Would it be starvation? Sickness? The strike of the wrong Dust crystal? Perhaps she would anger the Ophidians and catch a lethal beating. Or fall victim to one of the Foreman's indiscriminate snaps of violence. So many ways to die. Yet, being slain by her own brother in arms never crossed her mind.

Laying here, her lifeblood leaking out, Caryn couldn't help but wonder at how avoidable this whole mess seamed. Buck had always been a rough man with an erratic temper. A violent man. They all were. It's how one survived the Quarry. Yet, him and his ilk only grew worse since their departure from that accursed place. Yet that still didn't explain this level of violence. Caryn thought that perhaps she had been naïve to think they would never turn against their own. They were criminals after all. But she knew herself better than that. Even with all the injustices heaped upon her she would never take part in the violence that just occurred. And yet, in the heat of the moment she rushed Buck all the same. With the intent to kill.

Looking back, she knew her reasons. Her anger over Buck's actions at the Vulcan factory. Her fear of its repeating visited upon the prisoners. Her hatred for his disregard of the respect and command she worked so hard to earn. These emotions of hers which Caryn held close were torn from her grasp of reason. It felt as if something or someone squeezed her soul, expunging all that she held within. The overflow proved too much for her to handle. And if she couldn't contain herself it's no wonder what the rest succumbed to.

The shadow of a figure came into view above her. Caryn's eyes, which had gone slack, quickly readjusted onto the new arrival. The young strawberry blonde lad rubbed his previously bound wrists. He wore a mask of anguish for reasons of which, Caryn couldn't guess at. Though seeing her still alive he cracked his mask with a smile and knelt at her side.

"You still live?" he asked as if unsure what he was witnessing was real.

Caryn hadn't realized how beautiful the young man looked. Back in her home village many of the neighborhood girls would claw each other's eyes out to get with this one. Not her of course. She'd just watch silently from her window. Solemn in her acceptance that no one like that could come to love her. Not a shy girl with the freakish eyes of a lizard. Yet here she laid, a lifetime later, with the undivided attention of someone far more regal than any who stumbled into her small childhood village.

"Excuse me." He slipped his hand underneath her, his fingers feeling her back. "It didn't pierce all the way through. I suppose that's good. Can you hear me?"

"I can hear you." She responded, her voice weaker than she imagined.

Her former prisoner spun about, "I'll be right back." He limped off out of sight only to return a few moments later with a fist full of rags. "May I?"

Caryn let her hands fall away, allowing him to clean the wound. She grimaced and writhed, her fingernails scraping against the stone ground. Buck had gouged her good. Caryn doubted she would survive. Even with this stranger's help. He worked with illogical determination. Fierce were his eyes. So much so that Caryn suspected that her own life meant more to him than it did her. This was no kindness. To him it was a mission, driven by guilt to correct a wrong. The fault he sought to rectify was lost to her.

"Caryn, isn't it?"

She blinked up at him, "And you are?"

"Augustus Clementine." He smiled again. A warm smile, enough to dull the aching pain lancing through her body. "I'm sorry for what's happened here. Not all of you seemed so bad."

"What _has_ happened here?"

"I wish I could say. But I can't put it into words."

"The others… are they-" Caryn tried to sit up, but the resulting pain filled her head with blackness and she was forced to remain still.

"I would worry about yourself." Said Augustus Clementine. "Just keep your eyes on me."

She winced, "Easy enough."

"So, you're from the Quarry?"

"Heard about that, huh?"

His eyes shied away momentarily, "Yeah…I've heard about it. If you wanted to keep your friends safe why not go with the Rangers?"

"Most of my friends, myself included, have a bit of a reputation. You see, we couldn't go with them. Even if we wanted to. They'd figure out eventually and we'd be right back in chains." She shook her head, "No…The Rangers were never an option for us."

"What did you do to garner this reputation? If you don't mind me asking."

"I killed my husband."

To her surprise not a flicker of judgment passed his features. He simply asked, "Why?"

"He was a piece of shit." She said, "One I thought I deserved. Not that my reasons matter. My husband being human and myself a faunus. Since it was a human I murdered then it was a human prison they sent me to."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've done more good in that Quarry than I could've ever done on my own. Life in that pit was hard for women and children especially. And I saw my husband's face everywhere I went. It's like they wear the same mask."

"You protected them."

"No, they needed to learn how to protect themselves. I simply removed their tougher obstacles." Her drowsy vision was beginning to fade.

"I've killed before." Said Clementine.

Too long had she spent in the company where such claims came off as boasts. Every crime real or embellished stood as testaments to one's strength. Caryn hadn't expected to hear such a crushing sadness to one's admission. Not like what she heard in Augustus Clementine's voice.

She fixed him with one eye, "You're too young for killing."

"I hadn't realized there was an age cutoff. They should be more clearly stated as such."

Caryn giggled, much to her body's regret. "You're strange, aren't you?"

He gave the slightest of shrugs, "I suppose I am."

"Why are you helping me?"

"Why did you stand to defend us?"

"I didn't do it for you if that's what you think…They've become so far from what they used to be and ever since we've left the Quarry behind they've only gotten worse. I just wanted to help. To do the right thing."

Augustus Clementine brushed sweat from his brow, smearing his forehead with her blood. He stared at Buck's horn tip. Though she couldn't see it, Caryn knew all she needed to know from his near desperate look. He had purposely kept her talking to keep her both conscious and distracted from the pain. It was a noble effort if but a futile one.

"Stomach wounds are the worst." She complained, "People can survive for days afterwards, but the result is the same. I'm going to die."

"No." he snapped, "I can help you."

"Don't fret so much. I've accepted my death long ago." Caryn did her best to smile up at him, but the effort proved too much. "You seem a good man. I'd like to help you."

"Help me?" he repeated the words in utter disbelief.

"Strange as our situations are I believe I can. On our way to these caves while you were unconscious I interrogated the others. They told me you were looking for someone. A faunus girl with the tail of a panther. I think I can help you on that account."

"You know Kiera?" asked Augustus Clementine, his eyes widening.

"I knew of her." Said Caryn, "When the Rangers were liberating the Quarry many of us stayed there in camp to either recuperate or wait for friends still on lower levels. During those days many strangers came amongst us. One of which fits the description of this Kiera friend of yours. I knew not her reasons for being there, but she had this look in her eyes…As if she were on a crusade. I wasn't the only one to notice. Many gave her a wide berth. With those she did speak with she asked about their pasts. How they came to be imprisoned and such. Word is she was looking for any clues about faunus slave trading. Whatever answer she was looking for she must've gotten for she disappeared from camp after less than a day's stay."

"Do you have any idea where she'd gone?"

"If she were looking to spill slaver blood then there will be no better place than Menagerie. Though the faunus stronghold, the outskirts of the continent are crawling with bounty hunters and slave traders eager to capture any foolish enough to wander far from home." Caryn choked on a cough. Blood spittle saturated her tongue. "If it's your intention to follow her then I fear I must warn you. Menagerie is not a kind place. Even those parts which are civilized and secure are not welcome to humans. Y-you will have to be careful…" Her vision began to split as her eyes fell away in different directions.

"Caryn? Caryn, stay awake. Please…I don't know what to do!"

She could give no answer to his plea. No matter how much she craved to. Caryn knew that she will never wake from this sleep. Too much blood loss. She'd succumb to her wounds in a few hours. Without even knowing it she'd slip away. Such a subtle change. From sleep to death. The states were indistinguishable. Though she supposed there were worse ways to die. Still, she wished she had the strength to at least warn Augustus Clementine of the danger creeping up behind him. To her lizard eyes it appeared as no more than a shade. A devil to reap the souls of those lost in this cavern. It would have her and that was only fair. But to take Augustus Clementine as well would be greedy.

Caryn cursed her own weakness even as the darkness set in.

Moments after Caryn slipped into unconsciousness Clementine heard the unmistakable click of a gun. He looked up in time to see Tanner raising a Dust pistol in his direction. The multiple shots reverberated throughout the hollow cavern. Clementine whirled around.

Buck stumbled backwards, the cudgel slipping from his grasp. Four shards of rock protruded from his chest. He fell against a large stalagmite and sagged to the floor. Through clenched teeth he growled at them. Even as life fled from behind his eyes he remained ferocious. The once vocal faunus reverted to a feral animal in the end. One gore stained horn angled his drooping head to the right. Clementine slowly turned back around to face the Ophidian who still held his gun at him.

Tanner smiled humorlessly, "I was there that day when you and your large friend came to the Quarry. I saw then who you've claimed to be. Today, I've witnessed what you can be. So now I only have one question for you. Who are you really?"

"I am no enemy of yours, Ophidian."

Tanner held out his bandaged arm, "I'm no longer an Ophidian. It was only ever a job and its behind me now. Clementine…I've heard that name mentioned before amongst the chattering gossip of Refuge's City Guard."

Clementine cocked his head curiously, "What is it they say about me?"

"They say a lot. Most of it bullshit. Or so I thought. But now…" He glanced at the carnage around him, "This was you, wasn't it?"

"I can't say for sure. But yes, I believe so."

Tanner lowered the gun, "If you're not my enemy. Then I won't dare to be yours."

"Thank you."

They both flinched at a grunting cough. Tanner moved towards the source of the noise, stepping over bodies of dead bandits along the way. Spotting something amongst the heap, Tanner dropped his pistol and threw himself onto his knees. He flipped over a corpse and dragged the body underneath it free. He took the man's battered form and pulled him onto his lap. Holding a hand over the man's cracked lips Tanner broke into a laugh.

"He's alive! How am I not surprised? Fucker refuses to die. I'll never be rid of him."

Clementine squinted at the man Tanner cradled, "Brock?"

"I didn't think he could get any uglier. Stubborn bastard. Should've kept his mouth shut."

The rest of the visible cavern remained motionless. "Where are the Oaks?" asked Clementine.

"They're hiding at the cave entrance along with your horse. I told them to wait ten minutes for my return before risking the blizzard. The truck is out there somewhere. The cave mouth wasn't big enough for it to fit through. But you can't see more than a foot in front of you in that storm."

"You should hurry back to them." Suggested Clementine, "Let them know it's safe. I'll stay and keep watch on things here."

"That won't be necessary." said a new voice, startling both Clementine and Tanner. Four strangers rushed into the main cavern, coming from where the Oaks had fled. They were dressed in camouflage pigments of white. Snow frosted their beards and eyebrows. They carried strange weapons in their hands. Musket rifles equipped with bladed attachments at their muzzles. The four men formed a half circle around the cavern. They surrounded the scene and with some trepidation cast anxious glances at their leader, the one who spoke.

"We don't mean you any harm." Said the leader, "My name is Galen. We're huntsmen from Atlas. Anton and Teisha already informed us on the situation." Behind them, cowering in the shadows were the Oaks family.

"What are you doing here?" asked Tanner, slightly alarmed.

"We were charged with hunting down this band of faunus. They've robbed several caravans in the Fall and massacred the workers at an offsite Vulcan Industries production factory. We've been tracking them for weeks."

Tanner sighed in relief. No doubt he thought them here for him. "You tracked them in this blizzard?"

"It's our specialty. In Atlas a storm like this is common. Though we had help. A large number of Grimm were drawn to these caves. Whatever happened here was a beacon for those creatures. We simply followed them and carved our way through."

"Do you have a doctor with you?" asked Clementine.

Galen regarded him with some apprehension, "We have a medic, yes."

Clementine knelt next to Caryn, "She's wounded bad. Puncture wound to the abdomen. I've tried my best to stop the bleeding but if she doesn't get proper help then she won't last."

"If I'm not mistaken is this not the faunus who took you captive?"

"What of it?"

The four huntsmen shuffled anxiously, "Our orders are to hunt down and eliminate the bandit problem. We weren't meant to take any prisoners."

Clementine balked at them, "Are you serious?"

"Transferring prisoners is risky enough, but in this weather…" Galen shook his head, flinging bits of snow everywhere. "It's better not to risk it. Besides, we have our mission."

"Help her, damn you!"

In response to his outburst the three other huntsmen aimed their guns at Clementine. Instilled on their frigid expressions was the same look Cori gave him. Fear. The Oaks had told them what had happened and who had caused it. There was no hiding that.

"Calm yourself." Ordered Galen.

Clementine stood and hobbled forward, causing some of them to take hesitant steps back. "Are you really just going to let a person die? When you have the power to save them?"

Galen's eyes, like flecks of dirtied ice glanced at the cavern around him. The bodies that littered the floor. The blood that decorated the walls like abstract cave paintings. Even a warrior as seasoned as him could not remain unmoved by the sight. The pure madness of it all. The warrior looked to one of his fellow huntsman and nodded.

"Gil, see to the faunus."

"But sir-"

"Now!"

Admonished, the huntsman named Gil slung his rifle over his shoulder and hurried over to Caryn. Unpacking his supply kit, he started administering his own treatment by first removing the broken horn tip.

Clementine moved to watch over Caryn. "Will she live?"

"If she's lucky." Said Gil, uncaring.

"Make sure that she does."

"He will." Affirmed Galen, "Or it's his ass. How about your man there?"

Tanner looked down at the unconscious form of Brock. "He'll be fine. It's nothing serious. Brock has had worse." Clementine noticed how Tanner draped a cloth over his friend's Ophidian tattoo and opted to say nothing. He didn't trust these Atlesians. They were nothing more than hired killers wearing the romanticized title of huntsmen.

Galen addressed the other two huntsmen, "Look through the rest. See if there are any survivors." The two nodded and went to work.

Hours passed in relative silence. Clementine joined the huntsmen in their search of the bodies, collecting up pieces of his own gear that had been stripped from him. If any bandits survived it would've been the lovers he felt during the fighting. They most likely retreated further into the caves. Clementine withheld that suspicion from the Atlesians. Those two bandits were no threat to four huntsmen able to cleave their way through a pack of Grimm in a blizzard. Besides, there had been enough bloodshed for one day. Finding all that he cared to look for, Clementine returned to where Gil was operating on Caryn.

"How is she?"

Gil glanced up at him, refusing to meet his eye. "She'll live. Long enough to spend the rest of her natural days in prison."

Teisha emerged from the shadows, "What happens now?"

"Now we wait. When the blizzard passes, we will escort you to Kuchinashi."

Clementine buttoned up his winter jacket. "I'm not going to Kuchinashi."

"I'm afraid I must insist." Said Galen, "We'll need your report on all that's happened here."

"I decline."

Galen's face twitched, just the smallest hint of agitation piercing his cold expression. "This is something you cannot just decline."

"Well it looks like I already have."

"Let him go." interceded Tanner, "Just let him go. You'll have us for whatever you need. We were all here. Same as Clementine."

Galen chewed on tough jerky whilst glaring at the two of them. "Where will you go?"

"Menagerie. If you must know."

Ignoring the stares stabbing into his back, Clementine moved to Tanner and whispered. "You'll make sure Caryn gets to Kuchinashi safely?"

Tanner met his eyes and held out his hand. "I will. Whatever you did here today…I owe you. We all do."

Hesitating for only a moment, Clementine took Tanner's hand in a firm shake. Before letting go the former Ophidian pulled him in close and whispered, "Our past does not define us. Remember that."

Without saying another word Clementine turned to leave. The walk to the cave exit was excruciating. The faces of the dead watched him pass. His victims. His tools.

 _So, this is what you saw. Wasn't it, Shan? I see why you shuddered. Look at what I've become. A man too weak to fight his own battles so he commandeers the souls of others to do his dirty work for him. Their faces haunt me. Alfie, I lost my innocence so I in turn stole yours._

 _Ira…You kept them imprisoned for years. I had them slaughter each other in a single night. Which of us is the eviler of the two? I wonder._

Clementine passed the Oaks on his way out. Anton had his face once again buried in his hands. Cori spun away at Clementine's approach. Only Teisha met his eyes as he walked by. She offered him a shaken smile. Though false in its warmth Clementine still appreciated the effort.

He walked almost fifty feet in darkness before reaching the light of the tunnel mouth. The blizzard snowfall was an impenetrable tempest of white. He found Vern hobbled to a stalagmite near the entrance. The horse watched his approach with glazed eyes, nibbling on something left for him in a sack.

"Thought they would've killed you." Said Clementine. "Cut you up, make you into dinner. And I would've watched on, uncaring. They wouldn't eat me after all. I suppose that would've been apt."

Vern chewed, but otherwise made no response.

"Hoped you had seen the last of me, have you? Hate to disappoint." He checked through the horse's saddle. After finding everything relatively untouched, he worked one foot into the stirrup and struggled to pull himself onto the beast. Clementine nudged Vern in the direction of the cave entrance. The horse stopped five feet from the falling snow.

Chilled winds whisked through Clementine's hair. "I'll give it another hour." He said, "But after that we brave the storm. I want to be rid of this place. Forever."

Vern snorted a reply and lowered his head, continuing to chew.


	2. Chapter 02

Even late in the season winter clung, suffocating the land with its chilly embrace. The mountainous regions of the south once covered in forest green now stood stripped bare of color. A white canvas etched with rigid strokes of black for the naked trees. Spotting any kind of wildlife was a rare thing these days. Most if not hibernating in whatever den they claimed for themselves have long since migrated north where the warmth of civilization provided some comfort. This far south on the coast of Anima there was no such thing. No refuge to take shelter in. Only the snow and what one could make for themselves.

Any form of life that lingered in these parts were either lost or adaptable. Kiera convinced herself she was the latter.

The coast wasn't far. Another mile or so. The wind carried with it the scent of the ocean. It has been many years since Kiera last caught whiff of such a smell. Her senses though were keen and memorable. She could recognize a scent sometimes miles off and pinpoint exactly where she knew it from. Even when breathing through her blue bandana, which remained tied across her face, trapping the heat of every breath so that is remained hot against her cheeks. A cold winter. The coldest Kiera's ever experienced and yet, she felt little of it. Snow crunching beneath her boots, she marched on.

Kiera kept her hands buried in her coat pockets, one of which clenched tightly around her scroll. The battery had long since been depleted, but it no longer mattered. Even in its current state she recognized the land. Parts of it anyway. Enough to guide her. Old paths. Familiar hunting treks. A peculiar rockface. The years have done little to dull her memory. Those days of roaming freedom were never far from her thoughts. Even now, all she had to do was close her eyes and let her mind slip.

The snow melted away. Tall grasses waved in the soft breeze, tickling her feet as she went. Budding leaves of orange and yellow hues sprouted from tree branches. The stars above were infinite in the onyx sky. The environment painted itself to life around her in a mixture of swirls and strokes. Kiera walked through the jungle of her mind, drawn by the sound of rushing water.

A mist shimmered around the basin forming a sort of barrier in which Kiera had to push through. When the mist cleared she found a pond feeding into a nearby stream. The water ran so clear it acted as a mirror to the night sky. Pitch black, yet speckled with light.

Overcome with a surge of anxiety, Kiera halted at the pond's precipice. These waters were nowhere in her collection of memories. She had never laid eyes upon them before and yet, she felt strangely at home as if she'd been here all her life. How could these unfamiliar waters strike such a chord within her? Her body moved on its own, answering the water's beckoning call. Kiera fought against whatever will compelled her forward, making the casual three steps to the pond a struggling journey.

This place and these feelings were not her own. How could they be? It was as if she wandered lost into someone else's dream and now shared their skin, possibly even their mind for she knew its desire as if it were her own. Whatever dream she found herself in had a dreamer and he wanted to show her something.

By the time they reached the pond Kiera had stopped resisting completely. A surrender to futility more than curiosity. Kiera stared down at her reflection in the water. A pair of yellow eyes glared back, simmering in their harsh regard. The details of the beast's face-of her face, were almost impossible to perceive in the night. It's as if she were molded out of darkness. Yet by some miracle she could make out the whiskered snout, short rounded ears, and lean shape of a panther. Kiera tried to turn away, but she remained ensnared by her own feral reflection.

The panther growled, angered by her desire to flee. Close by came the flapping of wings followed by a bird's high-pitched caw. The water rippled into disarray and Kiera opened her eyes.

A whistling hum vibrated the air, disturbing the peace of her thoughts.

Once more she trudged through the snow. Kiera had nodded off without even intending to. She'd done it before. Her mind would rest but her feet would keep going. As if in a trance. It was never sleep that found her, but it was close enough. She swam in the pool of her memories only this time the waters were not her own. Her panther dream remained lingering in her mind despite her immediate dismissal as if the beast were still with her, only this time looking through her eyes. The notion discomforted Kiera a great deal, but there were other distractions to chew on.

A heavy wind rushed past her. Bucket's baton, _Nameless_ , which remained at her hip, whistled its jarring tune in response. That alone told Kiera what her bleary eyes needed adjusting to see. The trees were dwindling, allowing the heavier winds to pass by. The shore was just up ahead. Kiera wrapped _Nameless_ in cloth as to better muffle its whistle. Sound traveled far in these parts and she didn't want to give any warnings of her arrival.

Another fifty feet and she could hear them. The murmur of voices, clang of metal, and cranking of chains. Kiera took cover in the snow topped brush along the coast's edge. Lying flat on her stomach, she crawled forward to peak out at the shore. Not a grain of sand was visible underneath the snow. Patches of broken up ice floated in the ocean water. With a shock she realized that most of the ocean for as far as she could see was frozen over. The broken bits formed a clear, well-traveled path from the ocean's horizon to the shore.

The thick layer of ice didn't stand a chance against the monstrosity of metal resting at the docks. The Sarke. A giant hunk of red and black steel the size of a Vulcan Industries factory. How it stayed afloat was a mystery in itself. Large drills were embedded into the Sarke's front like jaws. They chewed through any obstacle in its way. Whether it be ice or other ships, so they say.

Somehow, Kiera knew this ship. And not just from the descriptions given to her or the reputation behind it. She knew this ship personally. Though she couldn't recall a single memory of it, the sheer sight of the Sarke twisted her insides. Not a memory then, but a feeling. An overwhelming sense of nausea. Shivering in the cramped cold. The deceivingly sweet taste of salt water on her tongue. Kiera had to look away momentarily or risk being sick. When her stomach settled, she turned back to the docks.

The Sarke's crew looked busy loading large cargo containers onto the ship's deck with the help of a chain pulley system. Preparing then, for another trip to Menagerie. Winter was the best time to travel for the Sarke's black-market needs. While most vessels, merchant and military alike stayed home the Sarke carved its own private path across the ocean. This way it could go back and forth with little interruption from outside forces.

Amongst the crew, Kiera focused on one man in particular. The one barking commands to everyone else. Boris Alvred, the Sarke's notorious captain. The man was bald except for the edges of his head where ginger hair fell to his shoulders in greasy strands. The Sarke's captain was bedecked in patches of furs. Around his neck he wore a string of trophies from past hunts. A lynx's ear. A shark's tooth. And many more. None of which came from an animal.

Those faunus Kiera talked with back at the Quarry, the ones who knew about Dwain's friend, Boris Alvred, were all missing at least one part of their faunus characteristic. Now she knew why. Glaring at that gaudy display of trophies provoked a low growl from Kiera's soul.

Sudden hands gripped her ankles and dragged her out from underneath the brush. Kiera twisted, managing to pry one leg free, which she used to kick the lookout right in the nose. The man stumbled back and unholstered the gun at his hip. Kiera spun in a low kick, sweeping the man right off his feet. He crashed flat on his back, squeezing off a shot that embedded itself into a nearby tree trunk. Using the momentum of her spin Kiera propelled herself back onto her feet. Before the lookout could rise she acquainted his face with her fist. With that, he was out cold.

Already shouts of alarm were being hurled back and forth amongst the Sarke crew. Kiera had been careless to let someone sneak up on her like that. Her anger blinded her to such subtle threats. Though she supposed it didn't really matter. Stealth was never her strong suit.

Kiera let her travelers pack slip from her shoulders. The relief of its weight left her feeling as light as a snowflake. Next, she removed her coat. Her arms were bare except for skintight gloves that stretched up to her biceps. The sting of the cold was a fading numbness against her skin. Kiera arced her back and shrugged her shoulders, rousing weary muscles. The simple stretching resulted in a number of cracks and snaps as if her body were shedding a layer of ice. She pulled her blue bandana down from her face so that it hung around her neck. Her frosted breath hung in the air like a cloud before dispersing with the wind.

The panicked shouting from the coast ceased. Alvred's cry for order saw to that. With just a single spoken word his crew fell into line. They were ready to face whatever intruded on their secret dock and she was ready to face them.

 _No sense in delaying any further._

Kiera leaped over the brush. She slid down the dune, skidding to a stop when she reached the level ground of the snow-covered beach. Her sudden appearance surprised many amongst the crew. Their bewildered eyes tracked the panther tail protruding behind her. Boris Alvred eyed the tail with discomfiting greed.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked the Sarke crew member closest to her.

Kiera rushed him and before he could even react she kneed him in the gut. The man fell to his knees, the contents of his breakfast spewing out onto the snow. Kiera gave the slightest of pushes and the man toppled face first into his own vomit. Some of the Sarke crew seemed to take that personally. Their shock and confusion gave way to anger. They came at her, brandishing any weapons they had on them. Kiera charged head-on to meet them.

The first man Kiera sent flying back with a single kick to the sternum. Next, she ducked under a haphazard swing of a crowbar. She followed suit with a kick between the man's legs. The crowbar dropped to the ground. Its wielder waddled off, his eyes bulging and his cheeks quivering as if he were constipated. A woman stabbed at her with a bowie knife, but Kiera grabbed her wrist and using her superior strength, redirected the blade into the man sneaking up behind her. The knife buried itself deep into the man's stomach. Without a care for the coworker she just stabbed, the woman wrenched the knife free and turned to resume her assault. Kiera kicked the blade from her hand before delivering another to the side of the woman's head. She toppled like a sock of potatoes.

Something whished through the air and Kiera dropped down just in time for a bola to pass over her head. The rest of the Sarke crew, the ones smart enough to arm themselves spread out across the beach. They formed a semicircle around Kiera. Their wrists twirled with an assortment of bolas. Weapons designed to incapacitate and maim, but not kill. They meant to capture her. After all, she was a faunus. A potential prize.

 _Fools. A hunter's tools do little for him when he is the prey._

Amongst the surrounding faces Kiera did not spot Boris Alvred. Where was the coward? Hiding behind his crew? No matter. She'll go through them to get to him. Its what she intended to begin with. Kiera dashed into the middle of them. Something that visibly shocked the Sarke crew. She leaped, twisting her body midair. The bola below her passed an inch away from her drooping knee while the one equipped with sawblades above her, sliced off a lock of curly black hair. She collided with her target, tackling him to the ground. A quick succession of punches to the chest was enough to incapacitate him. Kiera darted through their ranks, dispatching them with swift and sure kicks.

They were sloppy close quarters combatants. No doubt they were used to chasing their pray from a distance. Their bolas made for cumbersome melee weapons. Even the ones thrown her way more often than not ensnared their fellow crewmembers while those that did make contact with Kiera merely grazed her. Not enough to break through her aura. Kiera's assault did not slow in the least. A rage came over her like a red mist, dulling any sense of weariness. The ferocity of her attacks grew with every steel toed punt.

The Sarke crew fell one by one. Those that remained split apart, giving room for Boris Alvred. The Sarke Captain hefted a gun the size of a cannon. Kiera dashed out of the line of fire but the net shot at her enveloped too wide of a range for her to move out of in time.

 _Shit!_

The rope net entangled Kiera, yanking her to the ground. She rolled in the snow, struggling to free herself of the net's hold. Yet, it wrapped about her body all the same. Boris Alvred flipped a switch on his gun and the net, which remained attached to the barrel it was shot out of, was recalled. It dragged Kiera through the snow like a fish on a hook, bringing her right to the Sarke Captain's feet.

"Hold still now." Said Alvred as he pressed a metal rod against her back.

Currents of electricity surged through Kiera's body. It moved like lightning in her veins, racing for her heart. She meant to scream but her mouth clamped shut. Her whole body after instinctively convulsing, went rigid. The electrocution lasted only a second or two, but by its end Kiera was left limp. Her body still, but her heart beating faster than she thought possible.

Faces of the remaining Sarke crew gathered around her. Kiera tried to lash out at them, but her body remained paralyzed.

Boris Alvred knelt down to better look at her, "Damn girl…Freaking me out with those witch eyes of yours. Look at you. Even now you're struggling. Ain't never seen a woman this mad before. Shit! So intense. Relax, I ain't gonna kill ya."

"We ain't?" asked another crewman with some displeasure, "After what she just did?"

"What she just did," said Alvred in a tone that silenced his subordinate, "was damned impressive. Unfortunately, that brings up another problem. You see, a faunus as impressive and feisty as yourself...Well now, that's a hard sell. People don't want to invite the risk. May have to chop of a foot or hand. Something to cripple you enough so that you're less dangerous. You understand I'm sure."

Kiera could only gnash her teethe in response.

Alvred leaned in close enough so that his breath was hot against her face. Kiera didn't shy away, but instead glared. Her restrained limbs twitched with little movement.

"Do I know you?" asked Alvred, "I mean, I haven't been exactly popular with the ladies recently, but it's the strangest thing. Have we met? Your eyes are singing me a familiar tune." Alvred jerked back, overcome with recognition. "Sweet mother of fuck. You were one of ours. Shit, you were just a little rugrat last I saw you. A dusky skinned child with pale eyes and the tail of a panther. Look at you now. All grown up. Is that why you're here? Want to exact revenge for taking you away from ol' mommy and daddy?"

"I-I…" Kiera struggled to get the words out, "I don't remember."

"You don't? Then why are you here? How did you know about our little outpost?"

"Dwain."

"Dwain? That old chestnut? He gave me up?"

"He did…Though, it required some convincing. A hand or foot perhaps. Can't remember exactly. Maybe both. Just so when I left he wouldn't be a danger to others. I'm sure you understand."

Alvred laughed, yet none of the humor reached his seaweed colored eyes. "Dwain may have been a stupid shitbird but he was my friend. An important contact in the Mistral black market. He connected me with my top faunus buyer. Or at least he used to. Before Ira Glass slipped off her throne and hit her head or whatever the fuck happened in Refuge. Her death has left a vacuum in the black market and everyone's grabbing for power. Fucking chaos. Know what that leaves me with? Opportunities. To branch out. Dip my stubby little toes in some new waters. And with Atlas entering the game there's plenty of kiddy pools to soak in."

"Or drown in." suggested Kiera through grit teeth.

Alvred gave a yellow smile, "I like you. Maybe I'll keep ya. Gets awfully cold on the open water this time of year. Could use the company. You don't like that? That's okay. I won't hog you all to myself. Seeing the damage you inflicted onto my crew perhaps its best if they have you. Only fair."

The numb paralysis holding Kiera frozen was losing its grip. She could feel again. The rough rope against her body. The packing snow beneath her. The tenuous strain of her shocked muscles.

Kiera smiled at Alvred and all the gathered faces of the Sarke crew. "I think I'll have you all. Right here on this coast."

The crew snickered and Alvred stood, the only one among them dubiously unamused. "It's rather cold out here don't you think?"

"Don't worry." Soothed Kiera, "Your blood will warm it some." She clenched her toes tight. The glyphs inscribed onto her boots lit up a volcanic red before bursting into flames.

They all jumped back in alarm. Alvred jabbed at her with his electric cattle prod, but Kiera kicked out. The enflamed boots burned through the rope net and she was free. Balancing on her hands, she spun, legs outwards. Lashes of fire whipped out from her boots, blossoming into a cyclone. Those that couldn't back off in time were scorched by the inferno. By the time Kiera kicked up onto her feet the snow had been melted away, revealing blackened sands in a fifteen-foot radius.

Boris Alvred retreated to the Sarke, leaving her to what remained of his crew. They had lost their zest. Those that still stood, did so on wobbly knees. Kiera pounced. Wreathed in flames as she was, any attacker suffered the heat of her anger. Few attempted. Many tried to flee, but she chased them down before they made it ten feet. They could not match her speed or fighting prowess. Kiera fought with nimble steel like she's done all her life. But unlike before, there was no joy in it. No thrill in the takedown. No revelry in the sport of it. This was real, visceral violence.

Felling another Sarke crewmember, Kiera whirled around for the next only to find none left. The coast was littered with the groaning wounded. Bodies were strewn about. Some were smoldering. Others were bent in unnatural ways. Kiera stood there dumbstruck with the knowledge that she did this. No other. Her reasons for doing so were momentarily lost in the devastation wrought by her rage. She had to remind herself. These people weren't street thugs or thickskulled bullies that needed taking down a peg. They were slavers, traffickers, murderers, and worse. Kiera wrapped that knowledge around herself as if it were a warm blanket. In its comfort she looked out at the scene and was satisfied with her work.

Movement caught her eye. Boris Alvred bustled about one of the yet to be loaded cargo containers. He fiddled with its locks for a few seconds before throwing open the dual doors. Kiera squinted across the distance but could not make out the shapes inside. Alvred raised his hand above his head. In it he held some kind of remote. With a lustful glee he pressed down on one of the remote's triggers.

A sudden red glow flickered to life within the cargo container. They marched out in ranks of five. Humanoid machines. Kiera had heard stories from up north about robotic soldiers, but she'd never seen one. Until now. They moved with rigid motions. Functional, but slow and bulky. Each came equipped with a battle rifle in their hands. A red light radiated from the visors of their helmed heads.

Five rows filed in before Boris Alvred. The Sarke Captain grinned behind his metal soldiers.

"You like my knights?!" he shouted out to her, "A fellow ginger friend of mine hooked me up with them. Not top of the line Atlesian product, but they follow orders without question. A desirable trait for just about every paying hand in the kingdoms. I planned on selling them, but now I figure that would just be rude of me. What kind of salesman doesn't verify his product? Let's call this their test run, shall we? Knights!" The humanoid robots straightened into attention. "Kill her."

The Atlesian Knights shifted positions and opened fire. Kiera swept her leg out in front of her, kicking up a wall of snow and sand. A storm of bullets blindly tore through the mist. One caught her in the clavicle and another at her thigh. Her aura protected her, but she was knocked to the ground. Above the racket of gunfire Kiera could make out Alvred's delighted laughter. The sound of it turned her stomach. Just like when she first laid eyes on the Sarke. She heard such a laugh before. There was no denying it. What Alvred said was true. He stole her away from her home. Her family. Shackled her in chains and collars. Shipped her off Menagerie to be sold into slavery.

The deepest parts of her soul churned, cranking like gears. A sound filled her head. The rattle of loose chains falling to the ground. Then at last her soul clicked into place. Kiera rushed into the hail of bullets, bounding towards them on all fours. Her boots left melted footprints in her wake.

* * *

It took months of reconnaissance throughout the edges of the Mistral Kingdom to track down the Sarke and its crew. For a while there Leif was beginning to believe the stories were true. Maybe the notorious ship was just that deadly for they came across no one who'd laid eyes upon its steel hull. However, the truth was never as grand as people believe. They picked up on nothing but dead ends and false leads because those that have seen the ship were either in chains someplace else or not of the mind to share the location of its whereabouts with members of the White Fang.

Humans protected their own. Leif would give them that. But their loyalty was flimsy. Once he took the poker to their skin they dropped the act quicker than Leif anticipated. Humans proved less resilient to their faunus counterparts. They never had to struggle. Or be broken. Faunus did all the time. Its what made them strong.

They learned about the Sarke's secret dock on the southern coast of Anima from a club owner who bought faunus slaves from Boris Alvred himself. Finally, progress. Their mission would be a success after all. At least, that's what Leif thought when they found the Sarke at last. They watched for days from a vantage point not far from the coast. The Sarke it seemed was undergoing a transformation. The ship's insides were torn out. Cages. Chains. Everything one needed to keep a brig full of slaves in check was ripped out and stored in the dock's warehouses and replaced with shipping containers.

It seemed Boris Alvred had a head for business if nothing else. The slave trade in Mistral was in all sorts of ruins after the events at Refuge. The news of the slave quarry spread far and wide. A martyr in the eyes of the public. Slavery became as toxic to the masses as it should've been from the beginning. Dealing with slaves not only became more difficult in Mistral, but a great deal riskier as well. Captain Alvred knew the way the wind was blowing and decided to change cargo. All the better.

Leif and his team watched on, readying themselves for when the Sarke would depart. They intended to follow. That is until she showed up. A stranger. A faunus. She leapt out onto the coast as if she were entering some kind of arena. The members of the Sarke crew regarded her with bewildered hostility. No words were shared between them. None that Leif could here. As sudden as her appearance, the stranger attacked.

"Well this is a problem." Muttered Cleo beside him, "I'll go wake Waylan."

As she scurried off Leif watched on in awe. This stranger was like a lion amongst a pack of antelopes. Her deft movements hid the strength behind her kicks. Even outnumbered and surrounded she made them pay dearly. Leif became so engrossed with the fighting he didn't even notice Cleo's return. She squatted down next to him, nose sniffing the air. The frosted tips of her feline whiskers trembled.

"She's still going?" Down below on the beach Boris Alvred landed a shot with his netgun, entangling and incapacitating the stranger. "What do we do?"

Leif turned towards Waylan who stood at the ready. His hooded eyes hinted at no preference. Instead, they looked to him for answers.

"We stay on mission." Said Leif, "If that faunus wants to get herself captured then so be. We'll free her if we can once we locate all of Alvred's contacts."

"But that can take weeks." Protested Cleo.

"Months." Corrected Leif.

Cleo's eyes watered with tears for her fellow faunus. If she still lived by the time they're mission was complete, then she would be a different person. Changed by the brutal treatment of her captors. There was no doubt in Leif's mind and yet still, it was a necessary sacrifice. She will just have to handle whatever-

Flames erupted around the faunus below. Tails of fire spun out from where the faunus was previously lying prone, but she was no longer visible.

"Clever." Mused Waylan.

"What? What happened?" asked Leif without looking away from the flames, "I didn't see!"

"Dust embedded boots." Said Cleo with a mixture of amusement and awe. "This girl is hot!"

There. She was on the move again, fire trailing her feet. Clever indeed. Her pants which were no doubt fire resistant were also strapped tight to her legs as to avoid making contact with open flame. What remained of the Sarke crew didn't stand a chance. Their loss of courage saw to their downfall. Boris Alvred on the other hand found himself more troops.

Cleo jumped to her feet, "Are those?"

"Atlesian Knights." Confirmed Waylan.

Leif's crocodile tail wagged in excitement, unintentionally creating a snow angel behind him. "This must mean he has an Atlesian supplier. Or at least a connection to one. This is bigger than I thought."

"If we're going to help," said Cleo with panic in her voice, "now's the time."

"We'll do no such thing. This can still be salvaged."

"What are you on about? Those knights are going to kill her!"

"Exactly. Alvred will never rat on his contacts. Not to us. Can't be sure and I won't risk it. But when he's done here, we can follow, and he'll lead us straight to them."

"But she'll die! We have to cut our losses and-"

"No! I will not return to Sienna after all this time with such a minor victory. Boris Alvred isn't the real problem. It's the humans who support him. Take down Alvred and he'll just be replaced but if we could get to his supporters then-"

A growl pierced the air, echoing out into the woods and across the frozen ocean. The stranger charged on all fours into the knights' gunfire.

"She's insane!" shouted Cleo.

Insane she may be, but that faunus moved faster on all fours than she did on just two legs. A black shroud shimmered around her figure. Leif thought it was just her aura depleting from the damage, but it grew. Took shape, manifesting itself like a shadow at her side. A shadow with fangs and claws. The stranger clashed with the advancing Atlesian Knights in an explosion of shredded metal.

Before he even knew it, Leif was on his feet. All three of them were silent witnesses to what played out below. Her burning feet was all that distinguished her amidst the shadowy form of a great panther. It moved with a mind of its own, thrashing out, protecting her flank. They fought woven as one. Faunus and beast. The deadliest predator. Together they tore the Atlesian Knights apart.

Though it was freezing out, Leif's clothes become sodden with sweat. "We need to get down there." He croaked, "Now!"

* * *

Kiera became vaguely aware of the presence fighting alongside her. Its growls rippled throughout her soul like a boulder dropped in a lake. She caught glimpses of its visage in the haze of the battle. Raised hackles. Burning yellow eyes. The presence fought with fervent ferocity, mirroring her own desire for the destruction of these tin cans. She kicked at the last knight who seemed unfazed by both its imminent demise and the destruction of its friends. The presence's clawed paw followed her leg's arc, tearing the knight's head clean off.

Sparks spritzed from the robot's neck. The last Atlesian Knight fell to its knees before toppling to the ground. Directly behind it, some twenty feet away stood Boris Alvred leveling a reloaded netgun her way. With the pull of a trigger the net shot out and like before opened up to entangle her. Only this time the presence interceded. It shredded the net into bits of rope with one swing.

Kiera knew this shape the presence took. The upper half of a panther though twice the normal size. It turned to regard Kiera a moment before receding into her shadow. With the panther's return her aura reactivated. Truth be told she didn't even know it was gone. But looking down now at the number of scrapes and cuts she sustained from brawling with hunks of metal she knew she fought those knights vulnerable.

A string of curses brought her attention back face front. Alvred struggled to reload his netgun, which seamed to have jammed. Kiera strode towards him. Alvred dropped the gun and backed away from her slow approach, retreating further down the dock.

"Wait a minute girl." He said, "Shit, you don't wanna do this. I can help you." When she didn't halt, his voice lost the casual ease which defined it. "Whatever you came here for, I can give it to you. Whatever it is you want." Alvred stopped himself just as he was about to walk off the edge of the dock and into the freezing waters.

The wooden planks crackled underneath Kiera's fiery steps. "You have nothing I want."

"What about your parents?" Kiera halted mid step. Her brief hesitation brought back the sly nonchalance that personified Boris Alvred. "Ah, see, now that's got your attention. I never forget a face, girl. How you think I remembered you? I remember your parents as well. Back on Menagerie. Good folks. I can take you to them."

"How do you know they were good people?" asked Kiera, cocking her head. "You get to know families well before kidnapping their children?"

Alvred spread his hands out in an almost innocent gesture. "It was just the way they looked. Friendly faces. Real committed to their community. So much so they were so busy with it they didn't notice their own daughter was missing." He winced and a little bit of desperation seeped back into his tone. "I retract that last part. Listen, sweetie…I know where they live. I can take you to them. If you let me. Otherwise, you'll never know."

Kiera stood frozen on the dock. The flames of her boots blackened the planks beneath her to a charcoal shade. Her parents. She often wondered about them. Every stray did. But that's all her curiosity amounted to. Fleeting thoughts. Kiera never dared let herself hope and yet the swell that now filled her heart yearned for it. Despite her efforts to convince herself otherwise she knew Alvred was telling the truth. He knew and with his help she could find her birth family. All she had to do was spare this man's life. This wicked man who ruined hundreds of lives including her own. The choice teetered within her same as Alvred did at the edge of the dock. When at last she spoke, it was without trepidation.

"I've gone more than twenty years not knowing. Who my parents are…The life I could've had with them. That's all behind me now. And so are you." Kiera dropped onto her palms and spun, gathering a cloud of flames before directing it straight into Boris Alvred. The man's furs caught fire and he lit up like a matchstick.

Alvred writhed and screamed as the flames engulfed him. Kiera reached out and snatched the necklace of trophies from his neck before backing away from his flailing hands. Seeking peace from the fire's scorching touch, Alvred jumped into the water's frigid relief. Flesh sizzled followed by rising steam. To his credit Alvred managed to stay afloat, splashing around a bit before submitting to the cold and shock. Kiera watched as his body sunk into the ocean's opaque depths. She held his string of trophies in her hand. So many and yet she knew this represented only a small portion.

After a while, Kiera dropped the grim necklace onto the water and watched it drift away. She only hoped that the currents will bring the necklace back to Menagerie. That way at least some part of those faunus could return home and perhaps gain some measure of peace.

A shadow passed overhead. Kiera glanced up to notice a pair of hawks flying above. Round and round, they went, circling the scene of battle. One landed on the railing of the Sarke. Its golden gaze fixed on Kiera.

"What are you doing here?" she asked the hawk, "Shouldn't you be up north where its warmer?"

The hawk tilted his head sideways as if to repeat Kiera's own questions back to her. Kiera squinted at the bird. It looked just like-No, she shook the thought from her head and retreated from the hawk's stare.

The fire from her boots dwindled well past the raging flames they started out as. Kiera stomped them into a snow mound, extinguishing the flames. Peering through the resulting smoke she took notice of three newcomers emerging from the woods. Sarke scouts? Maybe straggling lookouts? The closer they got the more Kiera doubted their affiliation. They were to calm in their stride. Any remaining Sarke crew members would've tucked tail and ran before even stepping foot onto the coast. However, to these three the scattered bodies were nothing more than obstacles to be stepped over.

Kiera went out to meet them. They wore cloaks of white and bone masks resembling creatures of Grimm that hid the upper half of their faces.

"That's far enough!" shouted Kiera.

The trio halted a mere ten feet away. Far enough to give Kiera some space in case things got violent while also close enough to get a good look at these strangers. Any lingering thoughts of their association with the Sarke were dismissed when she noticed the cat nose and whiskers of the short girl on the left. The guy in the middle dragged a crocodile's tail behind him. The one on the right, who Kiera judged as the biggest threat stood a head and shoulders taller than his companions while still remaining to be hunched over. He had abnormally broad shoulders and a round, bulbous back underneath his cloak. She could only presume he was a faunus same as the other two.

Behind their painted masks their eyes examined her in return. Gauging her strength same as she did them.

"What's your name?" asked the man in the middle. When it became abundantly clear that she wasn't going to answer he continued. "My name is Leif. She's Cleo. The hulking man beside me is Waylan. We're with the White Fang." He spoke that last sentence as if it explained everything.

"Is that supposed to mean something?" asked Kiera.

"I've given you our names." Said Leif, the frustration creasing the edges of his voice made him sound almost childlike. "How should I address you?"

"You're doing it."

Cleo snickered, "I like her."

Leif grunted before looking around as if noticing the battle torn coast for the first time. "What drove you to do all of this?"

"What does it matter to you?" replied Kiera, "You got business with Boris Alvred?"

"In a manner of speaking…The three of us make up a single cell for the Mistral branch of the White Fang. We were tasked with tracking him down."

"Congratulations. You found him."

"We found him days ago."

"Is that right? So you've, what? Been hiding out in the woods waiting for reinforcements?"

Leif shook his head, "Waiting for him to leave. That way we could follow."

"Sorry to break it to you, but Boris Alvred isn't going anywhere anymore."

"We've been tracking this fucker for months. Months!"

Cleo put a hand on her friend's shoulder, "Leif, calm down."

Leif brushed her off and strode forward, "Then you come out of the woodwork and fuck it all up. And for what?"

"I came for Boris Alvred." Said Kiera, "To put an end to the slaving and an end to him."

"All out of the goodness of your heart?" Leif softened some, "Or is this revenge we're talking about? That at least I understand."

Kiera could still hear Alvred's screams as he burned. With every yelp and cry the hope of ever seeing her parents withered and died. A bridge, she herself burned. When Kiera answered Leif, she knew the truth of her words. "Revenge had nothing to do with this."

"Is that right?" growled Leif, "You think yourself a hero then? Dealing out justice?"

"I know what a hero is. I've loved one. I'm not a hero. I just deal with the bad same as I've always done. Boris Alvred is dead and the world is better off for it."

"It would be even more so if we got to his supplies and buyers. Could've brought the whole network down if it wasn't for your shortsightedness!"

"Are you expecting an apology?" asked Kiera, done with Leif's petulance. "Or are you just whining for whining's sake?"

Leif looked ready to retort but the man named Waylan spoke before he could. "What's happened is unfortunate. I share Leif's misgivings, but there was no way for you to know of our plans. Before all else I commend your bravery for facing the whole Sarke Crew alone and admire your skill in prevailing."

"You kicked their asses." Added Cleo with a smile, "We could use a faunus like you. A real fighter."

Kiera glanced between them. These three were fighters in their own rights. She could tell that much by the way they stood. A cell, they said they were. Tasked with taking out Alvred's network. That didn't sound like the White Fang she knew about. "I thought the White Fang were peaceful protestors."

"No longer." Said Leif, "For a faunus you're out of the loop for what concerns your kind. The humans only understand violence. So, we've decided to speak their language."

"Right there." Kiera scoffed, "That's why you'll never win. Not really."

Leif's eyes lit up behind his Grimm mask. "Come again?"

"You distinguish like they do. Humans. Faunus…We're all just people. Sure, faunus may have some interesting characteristics, but it's the same mind we share. Nothing is more evident to that than what you just said. Even if the White Fang were to overtake the world, you would fail to bring about the change you seek. You'd just be switching places and those 'humans' you oppress will create their own White Fang. And so, the cycle will continue until both sides realize that in order to achieve equality they must see that there is no difference between them."

Leif prickled at her words, his crocodile tail thrashing about in the snow. "No difference between us? What about the human you just put down?"

"There are just as many bad faunus as there are bad humans and its ignorant to think otherwise." Said Kiera.

"Yeah? Think there are any faunus that hunt down humans like Boris Alvred did?"

"Isn't that what you're doing here?" her words visibly rocked the three of them. Leif especially. Whatever cord that kept his temper in check snapped.

Leif strode towards her. Kiera didn't blink under his induced rage. He marched straight up until they were inches apart. Through grit teeth he whispered, "Don't ever compare me to a human. I'm nothing like Boris Alvred."

"No, I suppose not." Said Kiera, "You have a tail."

Leif reached behind his back but before he could grab hold of whatever weapon he hid there, Kiera struck him in the chest with her palm. It was more of a shove, one strong enough to send Leif sliding back to his compatriots. Leif quickly recovered though enraged. He threw off his cloak and brandished the weapons from behind his back. A pair of twin glaives. One attached to each arm. The blades were large and round like an axe and encrusted with green rock patterns, possibly Dust. Leif's crocodile tail smashed the ground in a kick up of snow and sand.

"Leif, stop this!" shouted Cleo.

"Don't come between us." Warned Leif, "I'll show her what a faunus with purpose is capable of!"

With that, he charged. Kiera retreated from his advance, dodging as she went. Leif pursued, his axes cleaving large sweeping arcs through the air. They danced across the coast with Kiera leading the way back to where she left her bag in the brush. Leif's anger was her advantage. He came at her with nothing held back and therefore no focus. She managed to disengage long enough to snatch up her bag before Leif sliced through the brush.

Kiera leaped over his head, doing away with her bag in midair. Leif came at her again, only this time she did not retreat. Axe blades collided with a tube of metal in a shrill cling. Leif remained to enraged to be caught off guard, and so he continued his frenzied assault. With each clash _Nameless_ sent tremors up Kiera's arm and the pitch grew louder. Leif intentionally sought contact with _Nameless_ in hopes of breaking the hole riddled baton rather than moving past the defense. His mistake.

In their flurry, Leif swung around smacking Kiera in her side with the brunt of his massive tail. The swipe shattered what remained of Kiera's aura and sent her tumbling across the coast. She skidded to a stop just in time to parry one axe blade. The other sliced across her collar bone. Kiera shifted her weight and hurled herself away as Leif's crushing attack slid down _Nameless_ and landed in the snow to form a miniature crater. _Nameless'_ keening continued, vibrating every flake of snow and grain of sand in a foot radius of its metal baton.

Blood seeped into Kiera's sleeveless shirt and down her chest. Leif stood at the ready where he landed, seemingly content to end their fight at first blood. Kiera, however, did not share the sentiment. She rushed him, swinging _Nameless_ as if it were a club. Leif batted away her attacks, which became increasingly more difficult. The reverberation emanating from the baton worked its way up to Kiera's shoulder. Its screech was all she could hear until it met Leif's left axe blade. The steel cracked and shattered as if it were cheep pottery.

Leif staggered backwards, away from the shredding debris that peppered his face. Kiera stood over him just as Buckets did on that day in the Buffer. Those memories replayed in her mind over and over again as if stuck in a loop. Buckets had hesitated. For just a split second his pacifistic nature took over and it cost him his life. Kiera vowed to never hesitate. Sprawled before her, face dripping blood Kiera saw Oren. The killer whose life she failed to claim. A black rage overcame her exhaustion. Mimicking Buckets' movements, she aimed down at Oren and struck with the tip of the baton.

A sudden gust of wind from the left. Waylan dove over his companion in time to intercept the strike. _Nameless_ struck Waylan's hunched back with a concussive explosion. That moment of impact expunged all of _Nameless'_ built up energy in one booming shockwave that threw everyone back. Cracks fissured their way up Kiera's arm before her shoulder popped and she lost all feeling in the limb. She bounced upon contact and continued to skid to the edge of the icy ocean.

* * *

Snow and sand fell like ashes from the sky. When the debris settled Cleo found the panther faunus flat on her back at the coast's edge, staring up at the sky. Cleo stood over her, but the stranger didn't even seem to register her presence. Her eyes remained fixed above as if tracking something. Cleo looked up, but saw nothing but a cloud filled dome with a luminous patch where the sun shined behind the poofy veil.

"What are you looking at?" asked Cleo.

"The hawks." Replied the stranger, "Circling like vultures. What do you think they want?"

Cleo strained her neck but found no sign of such birds. "I have no idea."

"They've been following me since Refuge. All this time…" her voice trailed away.

"Perhaps then they're here because you're here. Perhaps, they're here for the same reasons you are."

She laughed at that, although the humor was bitter. "I have no idea why I'm here."

Cleo knelt next to her, "What's your name?"

The stranger met her eyes for the first time. "Kiera. My name is Kiera."

Cleo smiled and held out her hand, "Nice to meet you, Kiera."

Kiera reached out with her left hand. Cleo clasped it and helped pull her up into a sitting position. Kiera grimaced at the effort. Her right arm hung limp at her side, already showing signs of swollenness and discoloration from presumably multiple breaks.

"I'll fix you up. Starting with this cut. I don't want you bleeding out on me." Cleo rummaged through her backpack and retrieved her first aid kit. Using a pair of scissors, she cut off the bits of shirt in the way before cleaning the wound. Kiera offered no protest as Cleo continued with the stitching. This faunus had a high tolerance for pain. Throughout the sewing process she voiced no word of complaint and elicited only a few grunts and winces here and there.

"All things considered, it's a shallow cut." Said Cleo as she finished the last stitch. "You're lucky it didn't severe anything vital. Your arm though, looks in worse shape. That weapon of yours is quite destructive to have done this extent of damage to its user."

"I just don't know how to handle it properly." Said Kiera, "You should've seen its original owner. I have none of his grace. Compared to him I'm just a meathead swinging a club." Her eyes lit up upon remembrance but instantly sunk. "Your friend shouldn't have interfered. No one else needed to get hurt."

"Who, Waylan? He's just fine."

"How's that possible?"

"You'll see." Cleo doused the wound with a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Kiera snatched Cleo's wrist as the alcohol coursed its way through the wound. Despite her weakened state her grip was iron. It was all Cleo could do to avoid wincing. When the pain subsided Kiera thankfully released her grip. Cleo rubbed her sore wrist, "Sorry about that, but better this than risk infection."

Kiera examined the wound on her collarbone. "You do this often?"

"Every White Fang cell requires at least one of its members to be proficient at first aid. Leif always rushed into things headfirst and Waylan was usually right behind him, ready to protect him when things went bad. So, the job fell to me. I don't mind. I'd rather be the one who stitches up the wounds than the one who receives them. Leif's alright too by the way. Shaken, but alive thanks to Waylan."

"And you're helping me because..."

Cleo shrugged, "You're not our enemy. Leif…he's just frustrated is all. What you struck true. In many ways we're like Boris Alvred. No matter how much we tell ourselves otherwise. We've hurt people. Tortured them. All just to get Alvred's location. We're hunters same as him. It's that acknowledgment, which set Leif off." Cleo gestured to Kiera's broken arm, "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"It will." Warned Cleo, "Let me fix you a splint and sling."

Cleo crafted a makeshift splint out of bits of wood and tape she had stored for such an occasion. For the sling she tore off and tied a piece of her own cloak. Kiera watched her work with something akin to awe. As if her simple movements awakened something within her. Whatever it was filled Kiera's eyes with tears. She didn't seem to notice until they started rolling down her cheeks. When that happened Kiera quickly wiped her face with her good hand. Cleo thought it best not to ask and instead gently guided Kiera's splint arm into the sling.

"Can you stand?"

In answer, Kiera struggled to her two feet. She wobbled some and Cleo was ready to catch her in case she fell, but she never did. After a few seconds of stabilization, she started the long walk back across the coast.

"What happens now?" asked Cleo who followed a step behind.

"I don't know."

"Well, where do you plan to go?"

"I don't know that either."

Cleo wriggled her whiskers, "You weren't kidding before, were you? Did you come out here on a whim?"

Kiera stopped and knelt to reclaim her baton, which rested glimmering in the snow. "Something like that."

Cleo gaped at the scene around her, taking it all in once more. It was a struggle to connect the fact that all this was done upon impulse. "May I ask why?"

"I needed to get away."

"Some holiday this is." Snorted Cleo, still hoping Kiera was joking.

"I'm most at peace when I'm fighting."

"You enjoy it that much?"

"It keeps me occupied." Kiera spoke as if what had transpired was nothing more than her typical past time. This faunus was something else.

"You should stay with us." Offered Cleo, "At least until you recover. I'm not asking you to join the White Fang. But no one in your condition can survive out here in the wild. I don't care how badass you are. If the cold doesn't take you. Then the Grimm will."

Kiera voiced no answer to her offer.

They reached the slope where Leif and Waylan were waiting. Leif sat in a daze, his eyes fixed on nothing. His bone mask was gone, blown away in the shockwave along with his ego.

Waylan stood over his companion, seeing to his minor wounds. The plates of folding bone armor attached to his back and the top of his scalp were revealed through his torn cloak. These armadillo attributes while hidden made of his silhouette a hulking abnormality. Waylan never seemed to mind. Unlike Cleo's own feline snout and whiskers Waylan's animal traits were profoundly useful. A natural shell able to shield him from all kinds of danger. Even still, Kiera's attack put its durability to the test. Waylan was hurting underneath those plates of his. Cleo knew it even if Waylan would never admit it.

"How is she?" he asked.

"Worse than you." Laughed Cleo, "But she's a tough one. That's for sure."

Waylan moved so that he stood towering before Kiera. "I'm sorry for interfering. But if violence continued then I would have needed to dig two graves."

Kiera glanced at Leif who refused to meet her eyes. "I got carried away."

"I don't blame you." Added Cleo, "Everyone's blood was pumping."

"Have you decided?" asked Waylan.

"Decided what?"

"I'm sure Cleo has already asked. Will you accompany us?"

"I will." said Keira, much to Cleo's joyful surprise and Leif's dismay. "For a little while at least."

"Good." Smiled Cleo, "I would've taken you anyway. Wasn't about to let you wander off to die."

Waylan nodded his approval before stepping past them both. "What do you plan to do with the Sarke?" he asked.

Kiera turned to face the ship, "What of it?"

"It belongs to us now." Spoke up Leif, "The White Fang can use a vessel like that."

"You want us to use the very ship that helped enslave hundreds of faunus?" replied Waylan without even looking in Leif's direction. "That will hurt our cause more than it will help us."

"Waylan's right." Agreed Cleo.

Leif smoldered in embarrassment, "But by what right does she decide its fate? We're the ones who tracked it down. We've watched them for days."

"Watched and done nothing. Where I come from, you keep what you earn." Waylan regarded Kiera out of the corner of his eye. "You defeated Alvred and all his crew. In my eyes the Sarke now belongs to you. What do you wish to do with it?"

Kiera regarded the monstrosity of a ship resting at the dock. "I want it sunk to the bottom of the sea where it will never trouble anyone again."

Waylan gave a simple nod, "I'll see it done."

Leif looked ready to protest, but a pleading look from Cleo shut him up.

* * *

The Sarke drifted out into the ocean a safe distance from the dock before its hull exploded. A pillar of crimson fire roared up a hundred feet into the air. The initial explosion of Dust set off a chain of smaller detonations throughout the ship, each puncturing holes in the Sarke's belly. The ship careened under the influx of water it took on and tipped until its front drills were pointing almost straight up.

Slowly but surely, it sunk into the ocean's depths. The unnatural fires of Dust lingered even on the ice. Its glow illuminated the coast in a red tinge. Kiera watched on from the White Fang's camp set up on one of the few nearby hills. She could just make out Waylan's hunched figure walking down the docks, not even turning to look at his work. The Sarke's dying heat washed over the camp and with it came a surge of dizziness. Already Kiera's arm ached, causing throbs of pain just as Cleo promised. Her mind lulled like an adrift barge at the mercy of rogue waves. She closed her eyes, forcing the nausea back down her throat.

With the Sarke completely submerged and her queasiness settled, Kiera turned back to the campfire. Leif sat on a log gnawing at some tough jerkey. With his mask gone Kiera got her first real look at him. An all too young face. Couldn't have been any older than eighteen and yet his rage against humanity burned like hot iron. It reminded Kiera all too well of Augustus Clementine. Except Clementine was cold steel. He would not have stopped, bloodthirst satiated, after the first inflicted wound as Leif did.

Cleo fluttered around Leif, applying poultice to the nicks and cuts inflicted by his own blade's shattered debris. Kiera thought about apologizing, but she couldn't muster the strength to argue with Leif. Not after today's events. Exhaustion, which had nipped at her heels since Refuge, had finally caught up with Kiera. It weighed on her, worse than the cold that clung to her bones. She wouldn't survive out in the wild. Not in her current condition. Nor would she have been able to refuse Cleo if she insisted.

As much as Kiera thought herself the lone wolf it was never really the case for her. In Refuge she had Buckets and Runt. Before them, Sap and Amber. And way before that when she was the lone person in the woods she still had her pack. That den of wolves. They ignored her at first, but after a while they took her in. Kiera never would've survived otherwise. Now these people of the White Fang offer the same. Protection, food, and company. Only a fool would refuse.

To an extent Kiera knew she could trust Cleo. The feline faunus tended to her wounds when she had every reason not to. She recognized the flaws in herself and their cause. That not only made her kind, but wise as well. Leif on the other hand hated Kiera and maybe even himself. His anger though made him predictable. Only Waylan remained a mystery to her and even so she sensed no threat of malice.

Kiera would stay with them until she recovered. Maybe even longer if things went well, but she would never join the White Fang. Their cause was doomed in her eyes. All upraising fueled by hatred end up becoming something those first few rebels never intended. Kiera had learned this well in the Mud District and she had no intention of walking that path again. She'd fight their enemies. The slavers and oppressors. The thugs and brutes. Whether they be human or faunus. She would make do distinction. Hopefully, these White Fang will learn from that.

"Would you be okay to travel at first light?" asked Cleo.

Kiera nodded, "Where will we go?"

" _I_ have a report to deliver." Answered Leif, "This mission was a failure. We'll be lucky if Sienna gives us funds for another task."

"You're being dramatic." Said Cleo, "Its not like she'll sideline us over this. We're her only capable cell in Mistral."

Using his tail, Leif swept some twigs into the fire. "Not anymore. That upstart, Taurus, is making a name for himself. He gets showered in praise while we get shafted at every turn."

"Adam is nothing." Waylan emerged from the woods as if he had been standing there listening the whole time. He sat opposite of Leif, close to the fire. Its light was enough to illuminate the shadows his plates of armor cast upon him. He had a scar across the bridge of his nose and a small mouth in proportion to the rest of his body. When he spoke, his voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. Someone much smaller. "Delusions of grandeur blind him to what really matters."

"And what would that be?"

Waylan flicked his gaze to Leif, "The person at your side. Lose sight of that and your reasons for fighting are sure to follow. Do you understand?"

Leif scoffed and blew the question off, but Waylan leaned forward. His hunched shoulders loomed over the fire as if ready to drop down and extinguish the minuscule flames. "Do you understand me?"

Leif could not hide the fear in his eyes. It tainted his visage until at last he submitted. "I understand. I always have."

Waylan grunted but otherwise gave no indication whether he believed Leif or not. Time passed, and they ate their meals in silence with the warmth of the campfire before them and the heat of the Sarke's destruction to their backs. Halfway into their meals Waylan spoke again.

"Those crewmembers still alive are gathering themselves down there."

Leif practically jumped to his feet, "I forgot about them. Why didn't you mention this sooner? We should go and finish them off."

"We're not executioners." Cut in Cleo.

"Leave them be." Said Kiera, "Their ship is gone. Most won't survive the trek back to civilization and those who do will spread word of what's happened here. I say let them."

Leif settled down and something of a smirk creeped onto his face. "Heh, you think like her."

"Who?"

"Our leader, Sienna Khan."

Kiera didn't know how to reply to that. She could hardly tell if it was meant as a compliment or a jab at her doubts in the White Fang's cause. Kiera decided to respond to neither and elected to turn in early.

They provided her with her own tent and bedroll. Kiera passed out almost the instant she hit the furs.

Once more she prowled through strange jungle. Using the power of her hind legs she leaped up onto a thick tree branch. Her claws dug into the bark, providing a firm grip as she crawled along to the branch's outer reaches. There she laid down on her belly, letting her forelimbs dangle to the sides.

Down below on the jungle floor roamed other animals. None noticed her for she remained camouflaged in the nocturnal night. A hawk flew over and perched itself on the same branch only a few feet from her jaws. Kiera growled at the bird, her hackles rising. The hawk however did not flee. Angered by its presence but too tired to lash out Kiera closed her eyes and let the sounds of nature lull her into a deep slumber.


	3. Chapter 03

If one were to stop and compare, the ambiance of a city closely resembled that of a forest. Each had its own hierarchy of ecosystems meshing together to form an environment. It was difficult for Runt not to notice these things. Months of labor and construction in each of Refuge's five districts made him quite accustomed to the noise. So much so that he couldn't get it out of his head. Yet, he now walked in a forest weeks away from anything close to resembling a city and he could still hear the same patterns. The pecking of the of workers. The bustling of the civilians. The light footsteps of the thieves sneaking up behind him. It was a wonder how such polar opposites could be so similar.

Perhaps it was presumptuous to assume they were thieves. Then again, there was little chance that they were anything but. There were four bandits in total. Sneaky ones too. It took some effort to pinpoint their light-footed steps amongst the buzz of the forest. They had been following Runt for nearly an hour, which meant they were either hesitant or simply waiting for the right opportunity. Funny, if this were a city as it so sounded like then they wouldn't be bandits, but rather muggers. Or gangsters depending on how well organized they were and or their affinity for titles.

Runt eased into a brisk pace. With his long strides the bandits had to struggle to keep up. Finding an alcove large enough to deal with his pursuers, Runt hid himself behind one of the elephant trees on the edge of the clearing. With his back pressed against the trunk its tree top was impossible to perceive. Up and up it went.

This place had many names, Sky Pillar Forest being the most popular among them. Runt however preferred the name his mother gave it. The Giant's Thicket. With elephant trees easily over three hundred feet tall and wider than Runt's own wingspan fingertip to fingertip, it remained one of the few places on Remnant where giants such as his family could feel normal.

Many were envious of his physical height. They imagined his ability to look down on most things as some kind of gift. In truth, Runt disliked his size even with all its advantages. He found no comfort in the heightened perspective it gave him. Runt remembered standing on top of the Spine, staring down at Refuge below. Clementine was awestruck by the sight. He relished the ability to reach out and grasp the whole city in his palm. Even then some part of Runt recognized this allure in his young friend. The beauty of the sight came second to the power it instilled within him. A power unattainable down in the district streets.

Runt found no pleasure in the dominance his size or position created. He preferred things up close. Larger than life. He'd rather be dwarfed by beauty than watching it from afar. That's what this forest did for him.

The crackle of twigs underneath feet drew Runt around. His pursuers had finally caught up and were short of breath for their efforts. They tiptoed into the alcove. One took point ahead of the other three. Presumably their tracker. Runt waited for the tracker to reach the perimeter of the clearing before moving an inch. He jumped out from behind the massive tree, catching the bandits by surprise.

For the briefest of moments Runt became confused. He believed that his mind was playing tricks on him and that the tiny size of his pursuers was caused by his own lingering thoughts from just a few seconds ago. However, when the children yelped in surprise his confusion dissipated. Four raggedy kids, two girls and two boys, not yet teenagers.

The three in the back quickly scattered and fled into the woods at full sprint. The tracker however was not so lucky. He back peddled, tripping over jutting roots. The scrappy child quickly tried to crawl away, but Runt snatched his leg and lifted him up off the ground by his ankle. Dangling, the kid pulled a knife from his shoe and stabbed at his captor's fingers. Runt jostled the boy up and down. Not too hard. Just enough to have him drop the knife. After a few shakes the boy was good and dazed.

Runt lifted the boy high, so he could get a clear look at him. His flushed face had the same ruddy hue as the bark of the elephant trees. Dirt and grime blotched his skin in a spotted pattern almost like camouflage.

"Can you hear me kid?"

The boy hung limp, eyes closed as if he were unconscious.

"Come on, now." Chided Runt, "Quit playing possum. I didn't shake you that hard."

The boy opened one eye as if to check if Runt were still there.

Runt caught him peaking and smiled. "Hello there."

The boy instantly broke into a frenzy, kicking and scratching. Runt had to hold him with an outstretched arm to keep the kid from clawing his eyes out. The tracker boy chomped the air with filed teeth resembling that of a bloodthirsty animal. Not a faunus though. These fangs were intentionally sharpened and crudely so.

"Calm down." Ordered Runt, "I'm not going to hurt you. I imagine the same couldn't be said for what you planned on doing to me. To think I'd get robbed by a handful of kids. To think you'd even try…You and your buddies must be incredibly brave, or stupidly foolish."

The flick of a rock cut through the air in a soft whish before striking Runt in the back of the head.

"Try desperate!" snarled the girl wielding the slingshot. All three of the kids returned to save their friend by the look of it.

Runt's aura shielded him from any damage. He barely even flinched, but he decided to release the boy all the same. The kid scampered to his friends in a wild dash to get away. The girl reloaded her slingshot with another rock from a pouch she kept at her hip before aiming at Runt.

"Don't move!"

Runt turned with his hands up, "I'm not moving."

While she held him at slingshot point the other two helped the tracker back to his feet.

"He's got my knife." Said the tracker, "Leona, he saw through my playing dead."

"Shut it!" barked the girl with the slingshot. She was the shortest of the bunch, but when she spoke the others jumped. "You almost got us all killed leading us into that trap."

The tracker boy flinched under her words. "I didn't think—"

"You didn't think?!"

"I didn't hear nothin'! None of us did."

"Doesn't matter now." Said the other boy, "We got him." He ran his filthy hands through his already greasy black hair and flashed a smile. He was the largest of the group. Big for his age and lean with muscle.

The little girl they called Leona stepped forward. "Drop your bags and empty your pockets. And be quick about it."

"All of it?" asked Runt.

"All of it." confirmed Leona.

"Is this what you do? Rob strangers of all their possessions and leave them to starve and die in the forest."

"If your plan is to pass through these woods then you're dead anyway. The other half of this forest is crawling with Grimm. We're doing you a favor. Take the mountain pass around the forest if you must."

Runt snickered, "The mountain pass is a bandit sanctuary."

"And people think they can just slip past them by going through here. But they're wrong. Better to be naked and hungry than dead."

"Can't argue with you there." Runt removed his backpack and dropped it in front of him.

"His belt." spoke up the greasy haired boy. "He's got weapons."

"They're tools." Corrected Runt.

"Hand them over."

"And if I say no?"

"At this range I can take your ears off." threatened Leona, "Make my brother happy and toss over the masonry crap."

"Carpentering."

"What's the difference?"

"Masonry is stuff like stone and brick. A carpenter works exclusively with shaping wood."

"How enlightening. Toss them over."

"I'm afraid I can't. I'll need them, you see. If you want them you will have to kill me. Are you killers?"

The kids stiffened at that, all except Leona. She stared directly at him, her slingshot wavering only slightly. Sweat dripped down her brow. Her bristly blonde mane trembled in the warm spring breeze.

"You step back then." When Runt did as she ordered she spoke to the girl hiding behind her. "Eva, collect his bag."

"And don't forget my knife." Said the tracker boy.

"Kaleb."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

The other little girl crept forward. She had long matted black hair that fell over her face. Through that veil her flat eyes never left Runt as she stretched to pick up Kaleb's knife and Runt's bag. It ultimately proved too heavy for her, so she had to drag it back.

Seeing her struggle, Leona nodded to her brother. "Dov, help her with that."

The black-haired boy hefted Runt's bag over his shoulders. With the backpack secured Leona slowly lowered her slingshot.

"There is a road about a mile or so outside the forest to the east. You can take that to the mountains. The bandits there ain't as kind as we are. They'll demand the belt. So, I suggest going back to wherever it is you came from."

Runt shook his head, "I'm not leaving. What I seek is in this forest. A village based around a lumber mill not far from here. Since you all seem local I'm guessing that's where you call home."

The children shared a few conflicted glances. Dov whispered warnings in Leona's ear. Eva watched on silently, while Kaleb simply picked his teeth with his newly recovered knife. A gesture from Leona shut Dov up.

"The village is gone." Said Leona, brutally blunt. "Overtaken by Grimm for some time now."

"I see." It was all Runt could muster for a reply.

"You don't seem surprised."

"It's what I feared."

She squinted at him as if trying to divulge his innermost secrets with a simple glare. "What are you to that village?"

Runt covered his face with his hands in a failed attempt to mask his grief. "A let down."

There was a long pause before Leona spoke again. "Death has made of the mill its home. There is nothing for you there." She turned towards the others, "Let's go."

One by one they disappeared into the woods. None looked back. Runt quickly lost them in the dense pillars of trees. He couldn't even hear them for his heart mourned too loudly.

* * *

The four children returned to their hovel of a hideout far away from the giant stranger. There they were hidden in the rotten out core of an elephant tree. Leona kept watch at the hideout's cavernous entrance. She had one hand in her pouch, fingers fumbling with the rough-edged stones she had collected as ammunition.

For as docile as he acted that stranger could still very well be a threat to them. He may yet return, and Leona preferred to anticipate a return that would never come rather than be caught off guard again.

Inside, Dov made himself busy carving grooves into the grip of his stone tipped cudgel while Kaleb hovered over Eva's shoulder as she went through the giant's knapsack.

"Will you back off?" demanded Leona, "Give her some room to breathe."

Kaleb stepped back a whole two inches. "We got some good fabrics here."

"Leave Eva to sort them out. I don't want your paws all over them."

Kaleb sneered, "I said I was sorry already. Didn't I? He got the jump on all of us."

"I'm not blaming you for leading us into a trap. I'm aggravated that you couldn't get away like the rest of us."

"You didn't have to come back for me."

"You know we did." said Dov, not looking away from his weapon, "No one gets left behind."

Kaleb's face grew red, "I almost had him."

Dov grumbled a laugh, "What were you going to do? Gnaw at him?"

"Straight to the bone!"

The two of them laughed. _Fools. Endearing idiotic fools._ They had no idea how close to death they came. Only Eva suspected, but like always, she kept her thoughts to herself. That giant was trouble. Her slingshot didn't even faze him. If he wanted, he could've torn them all limb from limb. Instead, he allowed this gang of twerps to rob him blind. Didn't make any sense.

"Why do you think he was looking for the old mill?" asked Dov.

Kaleb shrugged it off, "Who cares? No one else has. Not in a while now. How long has it been?"

"Heck if I know. I was just a swaddled babe then, all wrapped in bear furs. Leona hadn't even been born yet."

Leona listened to them talk, but returned her gaze to the forest. Again, and again those two recalled days neither fully remember. Leona suspected it gave them a sense of origin. A beginning to cling to. She didn't have that luxury. For as long as she could remember she was as she is. A member of this pack. No beginning, no middle, and no end in sight. They'd survive as they do now for the rest of their lives and she was content with that. Leona let their voices fade to nothing more than white noise behind her. It wasn't until Eva tapped on her shoulder did she turn back around. She held in her fragile hands an opened sack. The glitter of gemstones sparkled inside. Leona peered in to get a closer look.

"What's caught your eye?" asked Kaleb, his excitement making his voice a higher pitch. "Is it shiny?"

Leona pulled out a gemstone the size of a tangerine and held it up for all to see. Dov merely grunted, but Kaleb's eyes twinkled with delight. Only Eva was wise enough to shy away from the crystal.

"Is it a ruby?" Kaleb tried to snatch at it, but Leona knocked him on his ass with her free hand.

"Idiot. This is Dust. A whole sack's worth."

Kaleb rubbed his cheek where she had punched him. "Is it expensive?"

"Its dangerous is what it is."

"We should bury it." said Dov, "Wait until we can find a buyer amongst the bandits in the mountains."

Eva shook her head back and forth like a dog who had just come out of the rain, spattering them with her disapproval.

"Eva is right." Agreed Leona, recognizing the girl's plea. "With this much Dust…They'd gut us first chance they get."

Dov spat in the dirt, "How many lost travelers have we sent their way?"

"After taking all the valuables." Pointed out Leona, "We give them the scraps and they know it. There is no trusting them. Not with this."

Kaleb climbed back onto his feet in a huff. "So, what then?"

"We hold onto it. At least until I can figure out what to do."

None were pleased with that, but Leona had made up her mind. They knew there was no changing it.

"What kind of guy carries that much Dust around anyway?" wondered Dov aloud, "He was no merchant that's for sure."

"No," said Leona, "Not a merchant. He was a carpenter. Armed with axe and hammer."

* * *

Gone. The whole village. It was always a possibility. A great probability. Still, Runt held out some hope that it was not the case. He came all this way just to find out. Now he knew and yet even so, he had to see it for himself.

Onwards he went. Deeper into the Giant's Thicket. Runt didn't get far when the forest took on a change. Black strings were weaved throughout the trees in tremendous webs. The intricate patterns were everywhere, infecting the woods with their touch. Patches of black rot spread across the bark from points of contact. The horrendous webbing seemed to feast upon daylight, plunging the forest ahead of him into perpetual darkness.

Runt stood trembling at the nightmare's border. The lumber mill was somewhere farther within. Runt enhanced his hearing with his semblance, but even that offered up nothing but eerie silence. There was no piercing this veil. Though creatures of Grimm share no hostility with normal animals, they nevertheless had made this half of the forest uninhabitable. No longer did the forest resemble the ambiance of a city. Instead, its empty echo was akin with that of a tomb. Runt had no idea how long he waited there, but when he finally built up the courage to take his first step the void hissed in reply.

The sound assaulted Runt, causing him to flinch back. It came from no single location, but rather emanated from the whole rotten half of the forest.

Skittering.

It grew like a cascading wave of pebbles. Runt reached for his carpenter's axe at his belt, but his fingers could not grip the handle. He fumbled ceaselessly until his hands froze, paralyzed with fear. Still he could see nothing beyond the curtains of black webbing, yet the skittering drew closer. Just as it felt as if the noise would rip through the void, Runt turned and ran.

The huge pillars of trees passed in a blur. Runt's legs moved as fast as his fluttering heart. He had no idea where his panicked flight was taking him. Runt only wished to be away and so away he went. There were very few things that could keep pace with him. At full sprint he could outrun a Vulcan aircraft. Even so, Runt turned his head to check if the skittering pursued him. While he glanced behind, his foot tripped over one of the many overgrown roots and Runt went tumbling. Like a flat stone against water he skipped for about twenty feet before crashing into the base of an elephant tree.

There Runt remained, sagged against the trunk. The desire to get up and leave this forest was never far from his thoughts, but he couldn't muster the will to do so. He had already fled this forest once before. To do so again would mean to never come back. He'd live out the rest of his days in the bottom of a bottle like before. Only this time, the forces that dug him out of that life were gone from Refuge and unlikely to return.

Night came and with it a soft drizzle. Lacking the nerve to so much as stand Runt made best of his crashed position. Even with the comfort of the warm rain against his skin, sleep or any sort of relaxation avoided him. Runt spent the night huddled and afraid. Long ago he doubted the stories his siblings told him about creatures of Grimm. He assumed they were nothing more than spook stories meant to frighten him.

How they could sniff out negative emotion? The whole idea seemed absurd to him. Emotion had no scent. And yet, Runt recalled a conversation he had with Augustus Clementine regarding his aura. He spoke as if he could hear the cadence of one's soul. Runt initially dismissed the possibility, but Clementine had a way of planting seeds of doubt in all that he believed. If such a notion was possible. Then perhaps the Grimm worked in a similar way. Perhaps they had sensed his presence at their doorstep. Perhaps his dripping fear attracted them as if it were honey. Then they could still find him. Even now they could be crawling through the dark. Runt searched out with his semblance, but heard nothing of the sort. This only served to deepen his dread.

The seconds passed by in hours. Runt waited for what felt like an eternity before the sun cast its rays of light down upon his face. He stood, every inch of his body creaking in the process. Stiff muscles and weary bones grated against one another. Last night's warm rain became chilled with the day's winds. Runt shivered wet and dripping. With no food or any suitable wood to fix a fire he set out in search of both.

For a long time, Runt wandered aimlessly. He had no clue where his mad dash had taken him. The familiar trails were lost. Each step he took was blind. Yet, the unfamiliar territory of the Giant's Thicket brought back forgotten memories. He played once in these woods. Hide and seek. It was one of the last things he and his siblings had ever done together. They made him the seeker to help improve his tracking skills and hone his semblance. Mother's orders. All five of his siblings took to the forest, hiding in the dense elephant trees. He looked but never found them. Not one. Now, all these years later Runt searched for his family once more. And like then, he could not find a trace. Not even the conjured hallucinations that had stalked him most of his life in Refuge. Those days it seemed were past him now. Some part of him deep down was saddened by that knowledge.

Runt thought about climbing to the tops of the trees to get a better view of his surroundings. He had scaled the Spine before. These elephant trees were around the same height. However, their bark was harder than stone and with less footholds. It'd be a dangerous challenge. One he could not take under his current addled condition. So, he continued on, seeking the family he knew he'd never find.

Sometime later the piercing cry of an animal caught Runt's attention. It squeaked and squeaked. A plea to any who would hear. Runt tracked the noise to its source. A bunny caught in a snare trap. It pulled and gnawed on the rope, but it only succeeded in making the noose tighter around its foot. Runt knelt to examine the trap. Whoever set it wouldn't be far. Those kids from the other day most likely. Who else?

Runt didn't want to rob the children of an honest meal they no doubt needed to survive. Still, he had no desire to listen to the bunny's screeching either. Runt picked up the bunny and unbound the snare. It struggled at first but eventually grew relaxed in his hold. For a long while he sat there, stroking the bunny's fur as his oldest sister taught him to do when he was a child. A frightened animal tasted bad, she told him. Better for all involved if it were at peace when it died.

In a single twist Runt snapped the bunny's neck and just like when he was a child, tears rolled down his cheeks. Oh, how his siblings teased him. Runt the crybaby. Runt the timid. Runt the small. Runt knew they were only trying to toughen him up, but back then he saw it as cruel. Killing never sat well with him, even if it were a mere bunny. He didn't possess the necessary instincts his family had. At least not back then. Something has changed within him. He wasn't sure when. All Runt knew is that it hurt him to snap the bunny's neck. Yet he didn't shed a tear when he did the same to Oren Glass.

 _Would you be proud of me, Mother? If so, I want you to say it. Like you used to. Whisper in my mind. Curse me. Haunt me. Just don't leave me alone._

"Well done." Said a stranger's voice.

Runt shot to his feet.

A middle-aged woman stepped out from the brush. She was garbed in similar patchwork clothes as the four kids from yesterday. Her hair was unkempt and yet tidy at the same time. Like a tousled bird's nest resting atop her head. Her face seemed kindly enough albeit smudged with dirt and wrinkles that aged her beyond her years.

"Sorry." She said, "I didn't mean to startle you. I've been watching."

Runt set down the bunny, "I assume this is yours."

"I heard its yelp and came to collect. You beat me to it."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. It was fascinating to watch. One second it was terrified and squealing. The next it was asleep in your arms. How did you accomplish that?"

"Practice, I suppose."

She considered that for a moment before inclining her head in greeting. "My name is Robin."

"Runt."

"Your clothes are soaked." She observed, "Did you sleep out in the rain last night?"

Runt answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

"Come with me. My camp is not far from here. I can put that bunny on a spit and you can warm yourself at the fire."

"That's very kind of you."

Robin knelt and snatched up the bunny by its hind legs. "It's no big deal." She led the way through the forest with her back to him. Runt hesitated a moment before following several strides behind. He sensed no ill intent from this woman but her casual ease left him puzzling.

"You're wondering if you can trust me." She said as if reading his thoughts.

"Wondering how it is you can trust me." Replied Runt, "You offer hospitality to anyone you come across in the forest?"

Robin offered him an over the shoulder smile, "Only the strange ones."

They traveled down a well-worn trail that cut a twisting path through the forest. She led him into a clearing occupied by a small cluster of tents that formed the camp. There was only one standing structure not held down by spikes and it was a dilapidated shed. Excess rain water still trickling from the leaves fell onto its roof and continued into a handcrafted funnel that dripped fresh water into a tub. The filtering of rainwater was a trick Runt had seen many utilize in the Mud District. Seeing it all the way out here was a bittersweet reminder.

A fire still crackled in the camp's center. Runt sat beside it while Robin went to work skinning the bunny with a carving knife. He watched her from across the fire, its warmth helping to dry his sodden clothes. She worked the bunny carcass as if she had done it a thousand times. Judging by the state of her and the well lived in camp, he'd guess that to not be far off.

"How is it you know I'm strange?" he asked at last.

"All strangers are strange. Wouldn't you agree? Very few remain so once you've actually met them though."

Runt glanced around the makeshift camp once more. There were a handful of tents that he could see. Not enough for many people but too many for just one person. "Who are you to those kids?" he asked, certain in his suspicions.

"I'm impressed." Said Robin, "It takes most people some time to connect the dots. Kaleb is my son. To the rest I'm just auntie Robin. Last night they told me all about their encounter with a strange giant. Leona said you got the drop on them and that if you wanted to you could've killed them. And yet, you didn't. You even let them rob you. Strange indeed. But, if you meant them no harm then it's safe to assume you wouldn't mean me any either."

Runt choked on something that might have been a laugh, "I'd say you're the real strange ones. Who robs people then offers them their hospitality?"

"Can we not be civil?" asked Robin as she sliced the pelt from the bunny's flesh. "We bare you and no other any ill will. What we do, we do to survive. There is plenty of game around hear to keep us fed. But other necessities are harder to come by. Fabrics, medicine, proper weapons…We barely survived the winter."

"Is it just you and the kids out here?"

"For nearly ten years now."

"Where is it you come from?"

"The same place you're searching for, Runt Braun."

Runt flinched at the mention of his full name. His jaw hung open, unable to formulate a response.

Recognizing his discomfort Robin's face softened, "Forgive me. I grow more direct with every passing day. Symptom of the dying I suppose. But yes, I know who you are. I would recognize a child of Tysa Braun anywhere. You must be her youngest. The one who survived."

"You're from the lumber mill." Said Runt, thinking aloud.

"Yes. You may not remember me, but I remember you. The day the Braun family came to the mill was one of celebration. We thought we were saved from the Grimm menace plaguing our forest. How foolish we all were."

Runt trembled before this common woman. No more dangerous to him than the bunny in her arms. Yet, she knew him. Knew his weakness. She saw him run.

"Its my fault." He whispered into the flames as if he hoped they'd burn away his guilt.

"You can't possibly blame yourself. We were the ones who gave bad infor-"

"Robin, I know the difference between needlessly punishing myself and rightfully accepting the blame. We came here for me, because of me. It was meant to be a simple search and destroy job. Just quell a small spike in Grimm activity. My mother accepted the mission because she thought it would be a good opportunity to train me. We never expected to run into that… _thing_."

"We underestimated the Grimm infestation. Thus, we share the blame for what happened. Nothing you can say will change that. Your family…" Robin searched his eyes as if wanting to reach out and comfort him with just a glance. "I mourned their loss. Your mother was something of a legend here. She visited many times in her life."

"I know." Said Runt, his voice fragile. "Her sword was carved from one of these very trees."

"Easier said than done. The core of an elephant tree is damn near indestructible. It takes weeks for an industrial sized Dust powered machine just to cut through one trunk. Luckily, one was all the mill needed for a whole year. And when one fell you could feel its impact all the way up in the mountains."

Runt's eyes twinkled with memories he thought he lost. "My siblings told me once that our mother's sword was carved from a still growing baby elephant tree. When the wood was still soft enough to shape. Sculpted over years it eventually grew into the greatsword that it is. I think back then, staring in awe at my mother's masterpiece of a sword was when I first took an interest in woodworking…My mother…She always relished a challenge. I imagine someone told her it was impossible to make a weapon out of an elephant tree, so she sought to prove them wrong."

"I admired your mother a great deal." Said Robin, "She was a strong woman and a caring mother to her children."

Runt couldn't help but laugh, "She was insane. More fixated on raising a warrior than a son. I'm sure you noticed that every single one of her children were fathered by different men from all over the kingdoms. Capable warriors every one of them. Or so we were told. My mother didn't let them hang around. Once she got what she wanted they were left behind. It was my mother's dream to have the Braun name renowned in Remnant as an elite fighting force. And so, as soon as we were able to stand we were trained to fight. Day in and day out."

"Sounds like a tough life."

"As her youngest I had the worst of it. Her methods became more strict and grueling with each child. At least that's what my siblings told me in their rare moments of pity. There were nights I was so sore and tired, I couldn't even lift my arm." Tears swelled around the edges of his eyes, "I never thought I would miss those days."

They were both silent for some time. While Robin finished preparing the bunny, Runt thought back on his childhood. His mother's stolid face. The endless drills she put him through. Each time he fell one of his brothers or sisters was there to pick him back up. Every now and then he'd catch mom smiling at that. In those short moments Runt knew that despite it all, what Robin said was true. Tysa Braun cared for her small army of giant children. She cared for them deeply.

"What happened?" asked Runt, careful with his words. "After I fled, I never heard word of the mill again."

Robin spitted the bunny over the fire and watched as the meat sizzled. "There were others. Huntsmen and Huntresses. They heard of what happened to your family and came for vengeance. One by one they fell. Eventually the Grimm set their eyes on us. I think they were annoyed, believe it or not. Annoyed by the attempts against their lives. So, they decided to put an end to those who kept sending the would-be assassins. They overran the mill and slaughtered everyone in sight, including my husband."

"Did you see _it_?"

"No. Only its children. I got Kaleb and ran."

"Were there any other survivors?"

A tinge of sadness soured her eyes. "My friend, Tora. She was pregnant with Leona at the time. Kaleb was just a baby and Dov was still too young to remember his father's screams. Thank goodness. Together, we fled and hid ourselves in the forest. The hope was to wait for help to arrive. But it never came. Evidently the Mistral council decided to cut their losses and abandon the mill. Without proper care Tora died giving birth to Leona, leaving their lives to just me."

Runt sensed her own feelings of inadequacy. Those roots ran deep throughout her tone. "Very few people could've survived what you went through." He reassured her, "They were lucky to have you."

"Lucky?" Robin wondered at the word, "They took care of me as much as I took care of them. I doubt either would've survived without the other."

"What of the other girl?" asked Runt, "Eva, I think her name is."

"Eva just sort of showed up one day. A babe lost in the woods. She wasn't from the mill, I would've known if she was. My guess is she came down from the mountains."

"You still don't know?"

"She's a mystery that one. I can count all the words she's spoken in the past four years on one hand. Not mute. But purposefully silent. Who knows why? Kaleb, my half rabid son was disturbed by her silence and almost attacked her thinking she was a Grimm in disguise. Thankfully, Leona's smarter than that. We took Eva in and that was that."

"But why stay? Ten years you said. All this time and yet you remain here."

Robin turned the bunny on the spit, "At first it was out of necessity. I couldn't risk the travel. Not with children on my back. I had to stay and take care of them. To wait until they were old enough to move and act on their own. As fate would have it, when that day finally came it was I too weak to travel."

Runt studied her through the flames. Exhaustion formed heavy bags beneath her eyes. Her cheeks were somewhat sunken either from a lack of nourishment or sickness. Her overall haggard and worn-down demeanor was not unexpected from one who lived in such remote isolation. Robin caught him studying her and smiled.

"Have you got a diagnosis yet?"

Runt quickly looked away, "No. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Robin chuckled, "No please, pry away. Of the many things afflicting me, being starved of conversation is the most maddening. Do you know what it's like to have only children for company for years?"

"A bit, yes." He admitted.

"As far as my illness all I know is that I am dying. A rot on my insides. Usually I'm quite ill, but you caught me in a good hour. I still have those but they're fewer and farther in between."

"There are villages. Maybe a week's travel away. Doctors. They can help."

"I won't survive the trip." Stated Robin as if it were a fact written in stone, "I know it in my bones. If I'm going to die I want it to be here. In this forest. I can rest here with my husband and Tora, and all my other friends. Don't be sad for me, Runt Braun. I want to return to them. I've wanted to for some time. The children are strong enough that they don't need me anymore. Leona, though young as she is will hold them together. They will decide how they will live from now on. And that's all I could hope for."

Runt sat there, ensnared by her raw emotions. For the past ten years, this woman has lived her life not for herself, but for those children entrusted to her. Now, finally, she saw an end. Runt understood her desire to embrace death. To be reunited with the ones she lost. He walked those very same paths before. That is until Risa found him and guided him onto a different road.

On the verge of tears, Runt asked, "There is nothing else you hope for in your life?"

"Not for me," she said, her tone solemn, "but for those children. I hope against all hopes that this world will be kind to them. And you, Runt Braun? Why have you come back?"

"My family died protecting me. They're dead because of me and I'm alive today because of them. So, to answer your question. I am here for them. I will kill the Grimm that took them away from me. Or die in the attempt."

His answer came as no surprise to Robin, but she grimaced all the same. "You would throw your life away for revenge? Is there nothing left for you outside this forest? No person? No home? No breath of life still left to take?"

"Of course there is." Runt's hands clenched into fists, "There is still so much more I wish to do. I want to walk and laugh with people I call friends. I want to live a life my family could be proud of. To make their sacrifice worth it. But I've been running from this for too long now. I don't think I can move forward without facing this part of my past."

"And if you die?"

"Then its as you said. I will be with my family once again. But if I should live and walk out of the Giant's Thicket alive, then I will have my work cut out for me. My family were giants, you see, myself the smallest of them all. They raged and laughed louder than anyone else. Their passions were equivalent to that of an erupting volcano. A wonder to behold but fearsome to endure. I'll have to live a life truly envious in order to live up to them."

Robin studied Runt, her resistance fading from her eyes. "I see that there is no convincing you. You are truly your mother's son. I think she would be proud of you already. To even return here requires a rare sort of bravery. But if you could humor me with your company…for just a little while longer."

"It would be my pleasure."

Her smile was one of relief, "Thank you, Runt Braun."

* * *

"Come on," moaned Kaleb anxiously, "Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up! I can smell the meat cooking from here!"

Kaleb's encouragements did not help Eva reset the snare trap any faster. The girl moved at her own pace. Slow, but sure. Under pressure she became stiff like a statue come to life.

"I'm surprised you can smell anything with the stink coming off you." Teased Dov who readjusted the weight of the deer he had slung over one shoulder.

Kaleb strained under his own shared weight of the hunt's prize. He bounced from one foot to the other as if he needed to pee. "My senses are stronger than yours, Dov. You may have the strength of a bear, but you stumble through the forest like a pig. All stomping and heavy breathes. Oink, oink!"

"Come closer and say that again." Dared Dov.

"Quiet, the both of you." Ordered Leona, "Something isn't right. If auntie Robin retrieved whatever tripped the snare, then she would've reset the trap before returning to camp."

"Maybe she isn't feeling well today." Suggested Dov.

"Maybe. Just keep your wits about you. Whatever few you may have." Kaleb snickered at her joke, but Leona turned towards him. "I was talking to you."

Kaleb's snickering ended abruptly but was instantly taken up by Dov's boisterous laugh. When the two of them settled down Eva finished resetting the trap. With that done the four of them continued on towards camp. Leona kept a stone in her head, ready to fire off a shot at any moment.

As they approached camp the scent of cooked meat, which Kaleb had somehow noticed earlier, reached them all. This at least alleviated some of the tension. Grimm wouldn't cook auntie Robin before eating her. At least not that she knew. Leona had never actually seen a creature of Grimm. Only shadows and the blinking of red eyes whenever they drew to close to the Rot Wood.

Kaleb halted in front of them, "I hear a second voice." He whispered.

Leona fit her stone in the leather pad of her slingshot and moved to take point. Eva followed suit, the only sound she made was the soft crunch of grass beneath her threadbare shoes. Kaleb and Dov set down the dear and moved into position. Dov unslung his cudgel and watched the rear from whence they came while Kaleb crept opposite Leona on the trail.

Together, they stalked towards camp. There were indeed two voices as Kaleb said. Just barely audible over the crackle of the cookfire. Leona scaled a tangled knot of roots to peer down into camp. Auntie Robin sat at the fire with the large stranger from the other day. They chatted and shared the cooked meat of a bunny as if they were old friends.

 _She's invited another to our camp? Only this one was crazy enough to accept._

Kaleb climbed up beside her. When he saw his mother sitting with that man he bore his filed teeth in a snarl. "What's he doing here?"

"Let's find out." Leona hopped down and strode into camp. The others followed after a few seconds of hesitation.

Auntie Robin was the first to spot her. "Leona. Welcome back." she smiled pleasantly, but her eyes masked the pain no doubt curling up inside her. Leona had seen that look many times in the past few months. Auntie Robin will need rest tonight.

The stranger turned to regard their approach. Dried tears highlighted the sockets of his eyes like face paint. The man waited until they were all assembled before he nodded in greeting.

"Hello. Nice to see you four again."

Leona did not remove the stone from her slingshot. "What's the meaning of this?" she asked Robin, blatantly ignoring the stranger.

"Everyone, this is Runt Braun. He's a friend."

Dov bounced the cudgel on his shoulder, obviously unconvinced. "What's he want?"

"I invited him here." Said Robin, "He's our guest."

Kaleb cocked his head to the side in confusion, "Guest?"

"A welcome visitor to our home." Explained Robin, "So I'll have no conflict. You understand?"

Kaleb muttered something incomprehensible before nodding yes and scurrying off back down the trail to retrieve the deer they left behind. Dov continued to glare for another few seconds before going to help Kaleb. Eva and Leona joined Robin and Runt at the fire. They sat in awkward silence for a time. Leona kept to herself, gnawing on the bits of bunny Robin passed out to them. Eva on the other hand observed this Runt Braun with some intrigue. The man was fully aware that he was being analyzed but seemed unsure how to react.

"She's curious." Said Robin, but Leona knew that Eva's actions for the most part were a mystery to them all.

Kaleb and Dov returned with the deer and went to store it with the rest of their food stocks in the shed. The two of them whispered between each other and occasionally spared a few glances in their direction. Before long Eva raised a hand to her face and made a sweeping motion across her cheek as if she were slashing herself with her nails.

In response Runt touched the thin scar across his left cheek. He caressed the old wound as if he had forgotten it was even there. Leona had noticed the scar during their first encounter. However, she failed to take not of the puckered patch of flesh on the back of the giant's hand. She was not alone in her discovery. Eva reached out both her hands as if to trade. In turn Runt held out his hands, palms facing upwards. The same sort of scar marked the center of his palms as well. Like an exploding star shape imprinted onto his skin. Eva's already small hands were dwarfed even further when held over Runt Braun's. Still, the minuscule size did nothing to hide Eva's own scars slashed across her skin. Two mirrored cuts across the palms.

The two of them remained, hands out, for some time before quietly receding. Eva and Runt Braun silently regarded one another. Whatever just took place was lost on Leona. She had no idea what just happened. It was as if they communicated through some secret language only they could hear. Leona was aware of Eva's scars, but knew nothing of their origin. She had them when they first met.

Auntie Robin had watched the silent exchange with some fascination. It even drew Kaleb and Dov over. But before anyone could actually give voice to what just transpired, Runt Braun stood.

"I should be going." He said, "Its been an unexpected pleasure."

Robin's smile triumphed over the pain, "That it has been. Good luck, Runt Braun."

The giant nodded to each of them in turn before striding out from camp. The trail he took however, was not the correct one.

"He's heading towards the Rot Wood." Said Leona once the man disappeared down the trail.

Robin hugged herself, finally letting the wave of pain she had been fighting off to crash against her. "Yes," she managed, "he goes to face his fears." Auntie Robin crumpled in her seat, her face suddenly cold and sweaty. Kaleb was at his mother's side in a flash. With Dov's help they carried her to her tent, which Eva quickly prepared.

They set her down as gently as if she were made of glass. Dov went to work grinding up the herbs of medicine they had left while Kaleb clung to his mother's hand. There was no half rabid glint in his eyes. Just the look of a boy, scared for his mother.

"I'm alright." She said, "Quit fussing over me."

If anything, Kaleb's grip tightened.

"Kaleb," said Leona, "go to the tub. Fetch some water and get it boiling. Dov will need something hot to put the medicine in."

"I always liked a nice hot cup of tea." smiled Robin.

The two boys left the tent after grabbing the ceramic pot needed to boil the water. When they were gone a coughing fit overcame auntie Robin. It lasted several agonizing seconds before she wheezed into her handkerchief and collapsed back onto her bedroll. Eva pried loose the linen in Robin's clutch, revealing its bloodstained smear. She quickly hid it away and replaced it with another from auntie Robin's things.

"Thank you," said Robin, "Thank you both. They don't need to see this."

Leona sank to her knees next to Robin, "I don't like lying and pretending."

"They will hurt themselves trying to help even when there is nothing they can do. But you two understand. Don't you? Eva. Leona. I never had daughters. But I consider you both my own. You know that don't you?"

Eva placed a reassuring hand on auntie Robin's shoulder. It was all the confirmation the woman needed.

They were all quiet for a time as they listened to Kaleb and Dov prepare the tea outside. When Leona spoke, it was out of necessity for she knew that the two of them would return shortly.

"That man…Runt Braun. What is he looking for in the Rot Wood?"

"An end." Replied Robin, "An end to this nightmare. For it haunts him more than any other. Myself included."

"He will fight the Grimm."

Eva blanched at that. As if the idea seemed impossible, which it very well was in Leona's mind.

"Runt Braun will do what he has set his mind on. There is no stopping him."

"He'll die."

Auntie Robin blinked knowingly, "Maybe."

"He will." Said Leona, rising to her feet. "He longs for it. I can see it in his eyes. They're the same as yours."

Her words, she saw, wounded Robin more than even the sickness eating away at her insides. Leona stood firm, her glare unyielding. Robin wavered under that assault before cracking a somber smile.

"I can't hide anything from you. Can I?"

Tears swelled in Leona's eyes, "Why do you want to leave us? You claim us as your children, but you wish to abandon us all the same."

"You don't need me anymore."

"That's not true."

"But it is. You're both very young, but wiser than I will ever be. Please understand. This sickness is killing me one way or another. I've done all I could for you kids. Now, I look forward to meeting your mother and my husband once again."

"How do you know that will happen."

"I don't," admitted Robin, "but I have faith. Sometimes that's all you need."

"But I don't want you to go." Sobbed Leona, "What will I do, huh? Kaleb and Dov will drive me crazy in a single day."

"You move on, dear child. That's all that matters. I don't want any of you stuck here like Runt Braun. You must leave. Find your own paths. But always stick together. Together, you are strong. Together, you can overcome anything."

Leona's fists were trembling. She refused to accept Robin's words. She flailed against the meaning in blind hatred. Eva took it all in, silent as ever. There was a look in her eye as if she'd done this before. Auntie Robin reached out, but Leona slapped her hand away. She stormed out of the tent. Ignoring the confused calls from Kaleb and Dov, she set out in a random direction. Reaching, the edge of camp she broke into a sprint.

* * *

A long way Leona ran, darting between the elephant trees. She fled the camp. Fled auntie Robin and the life she imagined for them once she was gone. Leona didn't want it.

 _Leave this forest? This forest is all I've ever known._

Exhaustion burnt through her energy until at last she slowed to a stop. A gloom awaited ahead of her. The Rot Wood with its webs and its unnatural darkness. The half of the forest where she was born and yet never been. She cursed the creatures of Grimm for taking away her birth mother. Her village and the life she could've had. She cursed them most of all for their ambiguity. Auntie Robin praised her wisdom for she understood people. Leona understood the twisted minds of the bandits in the mountains. She understood Kaleb's rabid nature. Dov's protective attitude. Even Eva's silence. But Grimm…Grimm were unknown to her.

For what reason do they exist? Why this singular hatred for people? Why this need to destroy them and all they ever built. It didn't make any sense to Leona. She pondered questions men and women have spent their entire lives theorizing on. The most hopeless thing of it all is that no one seemed to have an answer. Grimm simply were. They always have been and always will be. Leona vowed to rage against this senselessness. Her hatred swirled in her stomach like vile acid. A cesspool of all things she didn't understand. It swelled to bursting. Until at last Leona screamed her frustrations into the Rot Wood. That half of the forest swallowed her hateful cry as if it were lunch.

Moments passed as she stood there heavy with breath and grief. Then for the first time in her life, the Rot Wood responded. Low thudding like the death rattle of some great beast. It approached, drawn by her call. Cold sweat slicked Leona's palms. Many times she brushed shoulders with the Rot Wood, but never alone.

The thudding stopped and in its place the webbing shuddered. The black strings reverberated as if plucked. Leona reached into her pouch and pulled out the most jagged edged stone she had. She would not flee. Her resolve was steal. She would look upon it, a creature of Grimm. The great unknown in her small world. She would meet its eyes before shooting them out.

From the darkness a figure loomed, its shape an abstract smear. It descended from the webs with ease. Thud by thud it stepped out into the pale light of this overcast day. A spider. As tall as a bear and as wide as the trunk of an elephant tree. Plates of bone carved with red runes shielded its abdomen and head like armor. It regarded her with four glowing red eyes. In them Leona saw her hatred matched tenfold.

It squinted in the light as if the day's sun was a foreign thing to the creature. Leona placed the rock in its pad, something the Grimm either didn't understand or regarded as no threat. As soon as it took its next step Leona pulled back on the rubber bands and fired.

The rock lodged itself deep inside one of the creature's central eyes. Its shriek of shock and pain pleased Leona who readied another shot. The monster shifted around so the one of its many legs blocked the rock. Hissing in frustration, Leona bolted around to get a clear shot at the creature's face. She unloaded shot after shot of her slingshot. Enough to keep the Grimm distracted. Each rock found its mark on the creature's massive body, but for the most part bounced off harmlessly.

Angered, the Grimm came at her. Its bendy spider legs moved faster than Leona anticipated. She jumped out of the way just as the creature struck down at her. Its legs stabbed into the earth like spears. Leona righted herself and fired off another shot that ricocheted off the creature's head. She only succeeded in angering it even more. It charged her at a speed too fast to dodge. Its maw opened up, releasing pincers the size of sabers ready to skewer her. Leona fell onto her back as the great spider heaved itself up-

But before it could strike something tackled the creature out of sight. The sounds of a struggle ensued beyond, but Leona didn't see. She gazed up to the impossibly high tops of the elephant trees, surprised that she was still alive. Slowly, she picked herself back up and stared in awe as Runt Braun wrestled with the creature of Grimm. The two were interlocked in a tight grapple. A battle of strength. The spider's legs spasmed in fury, kicking up dirt.

Runt Braun punched the creature in the side of the head, knocking it to the ground. The power behind his following uppercut sent the creature of Grimm flying onto its back some twenty paces away. The spider writhed on the ground long enough for Runt Braun to pull out his carpenter's axe and hammer from his belt.

 _So, this is what you needed them for? Dov was right. They're not tools. They're weapons. But look at them. Nothing but toys in his grasp._

With a stomach churning crunch the spider bent its legs backwards into an upright position. It lifted itself off the ground before completing the reverse transformation with a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree twist of its spine. Runt Braun stood there, the toy weapons in his hands shaking. Leona could not see his face, but she recognized his fear as did the spider. It skittered closer, circling its prey ceaselessly. With sharp legs it stabbed out at Runt Braun as if dipping its toes in the water. The large man evaded, but couldn't do much else. Even with his size the range of the spider's legs were greater. He'd have to close the distance, which meant offering himself to the spider's snapping pincers.

Leona fumbled with her pouch. There were few rocks remaining. They would be little use. She watched helplessly as the spider pushed Runt Braun back seemingly with its presence alone. The man's vibrant blue eyes wept fear.

"Look out!" she warned as the spider compressed down like a spring ready to pop.

It leapt onto a nearby elephant tree. Using that as a backboard it pushed off and descended upon Runt Braun. The two collided, throwing Runt to the ground. The Grimm pounced upon its prey, pincers snipping. Somehow, Runt Braun seized the spider's pincers with his bare hands. Like gripping a bull by its horns, they fought for dominance. Leona fired off more of her rocks, but they didn't so much as grab the spider's attention.

"Leona!" Dov burst from the brush followed close behind by Kaleb.

"Stop!" she shouted, but her order fell on deaf ears.

Grabbing Kaleb by the hem of his shirt and pants, Dov spun and threw the smaller boy into the air. Arms and legs outstretched Kaleb flew, laughing all the while. He landed on the spider's back, bouncing briefly before gripping the bone plates as handles.

"Die!" he shouted as he stabbed the spider with his knife, "Die! Die! Die!" His arm was a blur as he repeatedly stabbed the Grimm with mad pleasure.

The spider arched its sinewy back, screeching to the sky. It tumbled off Runt Braun who rolled away from the tangled legs. Eva appeared at Leona's side. The girl's eyes were frantic as she stared at the Grimm. Leona had never seen them so wide. Her face was a picture of horror. A picture which conveyed everything about what had happened to wherever she had come from. Eva may have helped Leona to her feet, but it was Leona who now kept her steady.

Kaleb rodeoed the creature of Grimm, stabbing and slashing deep wounds across its back. The spider went berserk. It trampled through the dirt, trying to throw its attacker off. Kaleb held on, his legs flailing about. A childlike chuckle escaped from his lips with every shake. The crazy bastard was having fun.

Dov moved up behind the Grimm, thwacking it with his cudgel. The spider kicked out with several legs. Too many for Dov to dodge. Taking one to the chest he was sent flying backwards. The creature continued to jostle Kaleb until he couldn't hold on anymore. He was flung off and crashed on the ground near Dov. The spider advanced on the two boys, giving them little time to recover.

Cursing, Leona reached into her pouch only to find it empty. Dov was quick on his feet. He put himself between the massive Grimm and Kaleb, cudgel in hand. Foolish. He didn't stand a chance against that thing and he knew it. Still he stood his ground even as the spider hurtled towards him. But, the spider made a fatal mistake. It forgot all about Runt Braun.

The giant man seized the creature of Grimm by one of its many legs. He swung it around as if it were merely a heavy knapsack. The spider crashed against the trunk of an elephant tree. Its legs caught between the trunk and its body snapped like twigs, but Runt Braun was not yet done. With strength Leona never imagined he swung the spider back before batting him against the elephant tree a second time.

The spider flopped onto the ground. Its crumpled form a broken mess. Runt Braun released his grip and went to retrieve his carpenter's axe. In an almost pitiful attempt to flee the spider dragged its shattered body across the dirt with what few functional legs remained to him. Leona and Eva gathered around Dov and Kaleb who thankfully appeared unharmed for the most part. They all watched on as Runt Braun buried his axe into the skull of the spider. For a moment all was still. Then the Grimm sagged dead at his feet. Its massive form crumpled into flakes, disintegrating like kindling.

Runt Braun stepped back as the black mist floated up and away.

"It is over?" wondered Dov aloud.

"Over?" replied Runt Braun as if not understanding the word.

"We've slain the creature of Grimm." He said with some excitement in his voice, "The nightmare of the Rot Wood."

Runt Braun's shoulders fell up and down as if he were laughing, but Leona heard no such humor from him. "That," he said, at last turning to face the four of them, "was nothing more than its spawn. A foot soldier. There are probably dozens more just as powerful ahead."

"And you intend to fight them all." Leona's words came out more as an accusation than a question.

"Return to camp. Don't follow me."

"You will throw away your life."

"Its mine to do with as I please." Runt Braun gathered his fallen hammer and slipped the tool back into his work belt. "Return to camp." He repeated, "Take care of Robin." With that Runt Braun plunged into the dark webs of the Rot Wood, using his axe to slice a path for himself.

Leona waited until he was gone from sight before facing the others. Kaleb sat on the ground, head swaying as if he were still dizzy from his wild ride. He stared in awe at his clean knife for the blood of the Grimm had dissipated as well. Beside him, Eva tended to the cut Kaleb sustained from his rough landing. She dabbed at the graze with tender care though her eyes were distant. Her lips moved as if she were speaking, but no sound came out. A silent prayer it seemed. Dov stood leaning on his cudgel for support. Sweat beaded his face. He wouldn't admit it, but that kick knocked the wind out of him. To even stand after such a blow spoke volumes of her brother's stubbornness.

"You left Robin." Said Leona to no one in particular.

"She wanted us to chase you down." Said Kaleb, "Don't worry, we got her the tea first. She's probably sound asleep by now."

Dov stepped up close so that he was looking down at her through flared nostrils, "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't." admitted Leona, "When I don't think, I get into trouble. I'd say it's the opposite for you two."

It took a moment for Kaleb to register her words. "Hey, what does that mean?"

Ignoring the bait, Dov pushed past his sister and stared down the path Runt Braun created into the Rot Wood. "You think he'll die?"

"I know it."

"He goes to kill the nightmare?"

"He will try, but by himself he will fail."

Dov ran a hand through his greasy black hair, "Auntie Robin thinks I was too young to remember. But she's wrong. I remember the screams of my farther right before he died. I remember mother shoving my face into her chest so that I wouldn't see. That hold of mercy almost suffocated me."

"Mother," said Eva, shocking them all, "Mother said, ' _Quiet. No matter what you hear don't utter a sound._ ' No sound I made. Not until I saw it. My voice killed my mother." Her flat eyes hardened to slate. "But it was the Grimm who heard it."

They stood there awhile. Shocked into silence. Those were more words than Eva had ever shared before. It spoke to her desire as did Dov's.

Leona clapped her hands free of dirt, "Well that settles it."

"What're you thinking?" asked Dov.

"Nothing," answered Leona, "Nothing at all."

"Good," grinned Kaleb, "Cause I have a few ideas myself."

* * *

The kids called this half of the forest, Rot Wood. Runt truly didn't comprehend how fitting the name was until now. The black webbing of these arachnid Grimm was a plague on this forest. Their corruption ate away at the life of the elephant trees. The once ruddy hues of the wood became soiled with blots of black and gray decay. Runt placed a hand against one of the elephant trees. Its bark was soft and sticky to the touch. He pulled away, peeling part of the tree's skin with it. Sickly slime bled profusely from the wound. Runt had to flick his hand to rid himself of the goo.

Never before had he seen or so much as heard of such an effect. To Runt, the creatures of Grimm were evil beasts. Monsters. But this…this was the work of demons. Their touch was death. Its all they knew and all they were. To fight them was to wrestle with madness. And yet those kids tangled with no hesitation. Runt had spent many years around such reckless children back in the Mud District. Mudslingers like Naz and Jules being the most reckless of them all. Yet these four children out here were even more wild.

Leona. The youngest, smallest, and smartest of them all. The girl stood her ground against that creature of Grimm when he himself had fled from just the sound of their approach. Her courageous spirit was a beacon for the other three. Robin's boy, Kaleb, was perhaps the maddest of the bunch. Runt saw him riding that Grimm as if it were a game. Even when tossed through the air that grin never left his face. Runt shuddered to imagine the upbringing that produced such a child. Then there was Dov. The oldest. He fought as the protector of their pack and in doing so emulated their ferociousness. He took their strengths and their weaknesses as his own. Wore them like armor so that when that Grimm charged him, he held steady. Brave lad.

Then there was Eva. The silent mystery. Poor girl. Runt heard the jackhammer that was her heart back there. The very sight of that Grimm brought her to the edge of sanity and judging by how well she balanced she must've walked that tightrope for some time. What happened in her past was not a hard thing to guess at. Grimm. Probably some outreach of a village or town much like the mill. Such places far from the cities were risks. Some paid off. Most did not. What struck Runt odd were the scars she bore on her palms. Those mirrored cuts were too clean. No Grimm could've done that. A knife then, held by a human's hand. What mystery laid there? Eva would never say. She wore her silence like a vow with almost monkish virtue. Yet it did nothing to diminish her perceptiveness. Eva saw, and Eva understood.

 _Maybe too much._

Again, Runt swung his carpenter's axe, severing strings of webs that got in his way. How far had he gone into the Rot Wood? He could not tell. Glancing back, there was only darkness. They were watching him. Runt could feel their gaze on his back. The webbing trembled under their gathering weight. There was a score or so of them and he picked up more along the way. At least two foot soldiers like the one he'd already slain. The rest were smaller in scale. Weavers he'd guess. Runt knew little of the hierarchy of spiders or if these Grimm even adhered to the same social structure as their arachnid counterparts. Who could know? Studying Grimm was nearly impossible. They wither in captivity and attack any would-be surveyors on sight.

Yet, none approached him. They simply followed at a distance. Runt could not deny the feeling that he was in some way being escorted to see a queen. How daunting to know the truth of that? They allowed him passage as if knowing his intentions and deeming them futile. Runt wondered, did they recognize him? His face. His size. The blue of his eyes. So very much like his mother. Did they know that the fled child had returned? Was word sent ahead of him? Did they now prepare for a feast?

Such thoughts clawed at the inside of Runt's skull. He hoped they were true and not just some selfish desire to imagine them as more than they actually are. Then at least he could look them in the eye right before they turn to dust. In that moment they'll know why. If Grimm could feel regret he'd make of it their last meal. _Savor it well, on your return to darkness._

The webbing interlocking the forest together thickened into a more cavernous shape. Despite the outdoors, Runt felt as if he were entering a cave. Many of the Grimm that were following him spread out across the expanse. The ruined silhouette of the lumber mill at last came into view ahead of him. What remained of its structures were pitch black. Rotten to the core with corruption. Runt continued forward. He stopped when something snapped underneath his foot. He stepped back to find the remains of a skeleton. Not an ounce of flesh clung to its gnawed-on bones. The femur, which snapped beneath his shoe crumbled even further. The marrow had been sucked out long ago, leaving what remained as brittle and delicate as eggshell.

The grounds were littered with such remains. Bits of bone scattered about, collecting heavily near cocoons. From each wrapped sarcophagus was a gaping hole in its center, right where the abdomen would be. Inside was nothing but an empty husk.

The bones weren't all that decorated the lumber mill. There were tattered clothes, flags, and even old weapons protruding from the webs. Trophies from previous huntsmen and huntresses who failed to bring about an end to this nightmare. They stood as cairns for the dead.

In a way, Runt was here for them to. Killing these creatures of Grimm will not only avenge his family but all who perished in this forest. The warriors and citizens alike. They're ghosts lingered here. Clementine once said that such apparitions remain to correct a wrong. The wrong being their early death. They can't move on, just like him.

Runt strode out into the center of the lair where he stood before the lumber mill's great saw. The one used to chop a fallen elephant tree into bits. It hovered, suspended in the air like a guillotine just seconds away from dropping. Once it had been mobile, for a whole elephant tree was to vast to drag back to the mill. However, the machinations that made it so were far beyond disrepair which left the great saw blade crooked.

The gathered creatures of Grimm crawled down from their roosts on all sides. They were of such a mix of sizes it was impossible to estimate their numbers. The larger ones took to the front. On level ground they appeared as an ocean of black limbs. Only the glow of their eyes and the pale bone plates set them apart from one another. Already surrounding him, they enclosed. The wait it seemed was over.

 _Finally._

Runt Braun sheathed his carpenter's axe. These tools of his were inefficient weapons but they were all he knew. Still, they would serve little use in the chaotic fight to come. Better he had his hands free. Unbuckling his toolbelt, Runt let it drop to the ground. The mass of spiders crawled closer at a leisurely pace. Something his mother told him once returned to his mind as a whisper.

 _Never let the enemy have the first move. Don't wait for them to make a mistake because they already have. Show them their error in fighting a member of the Braun family._

A single lunge closed the distance between them. That came as a bit of a shock to the arachnid soldier Runt Braun closed his hands around. With a squeeze and a twist its head popped off. Runt jumped over its already crumbling corpse and dove into the midst of the smaller spiders behind it. He crushed a few underfoot with his landing alone. His arms thrashed, breaking and snapping anything he could get his hands on. Runt shoved deeper into the Grimm ranks, not giving them a second to recover. They scrambled to get away, their bodies tangling. The soldier spiders were forced to trample their own just to reach him.

Runt dealt with the bigger ones as soon as they got close. Fighting more than one of them at a time would've prove troublesome. Best they were dealt with as quick as possible. He broke through their legs to quickly crush their skulls. They fought back with biting pincers and stabbing limbs. Runt cared little for the damage inflicted upon himself. His aura held though its depletion was rapid against the battering. He could see its manifestation around him. Its dull brown glow gave some illumination to his surroundings. If anything, it brought out the uglier details of the Grimm. The black pits of their maws. Their sinewy tendons.

The ceaseless battle continued in an arc around the lair. All the flailing tossed bodies of spiders reminded Runt of the Vulcan salvage depot in the Craft District. A place where all scrap was fed into the churning throat of a great machine which crushed the junk into neatly compressed squares. It made him smile to imagine himself as that crushing machine.

The endless waves of Grimm became fewer until at last Runt noticed a gap opening up in their assault. With both hands he tore that gap asunder. The remaining Grimm retreated before him, backpedaling up the sides of their lair where they hid in their nests. Runt was left alone in the center of the lair surrounded by the black smoke of the deceased Grimm. His trembling hands calmed, and his breathing slowed. They were not done. Not yet. It was only a matter of time before they regrouped and came at him again. Yet he wasn't sure. Something about their retreat wasn't quite right. If they simply continued, then they would've eventually overwhelmed him.

 _What then their cause for retreat?_

As if in answer to his question there came a hiss from above. Runt gazed up.

Darkness descended using multiple elephant trees as footholds. Its massive form blotted out what little sunlight made it down here. With every step it grew larger. Runt shrank away. He never did lay eyes upon it. Not its full form. He only ever saw its shadow against the wall but even that memory of a shadow was dwarfed by what now descended.

The Broodmother landed before him. Each plant of one of its legs shook the ground. Eight fiery red eyes blinked at him, each one the size of Runt's head or bigger.

"Do you remember me?" he asked in a low snarl.

The gargantuan creature of Grimm made no effort to reply. It simply blinked at him as if it were just disturbed from sleep. With some effort Runt clenched his hands into fists.

"You will." He charged the Broodmother head on.

Legs as thick as telephone poles lashed out. They impaled the ground. Runt wended through the struck legs which blocked his path. He slid underneath the Broodmother, jumping up to drive his fist into its underbelly. The soft black tissue absorbed the blow, almost swallowing Runt's fist. Before he could strike again one of its legs reached below and plucked him out as if he were a pest and flung him across the lair.

Where Runt crashed he didn't have time to stand for the Broodmother was already upon him. It stomped down on him with its front legs. Runt rolled to avoid them. Nearly getting squished by one he grabbed its foot so upon lifting it pulled him back onto his feet. The arachnid queen reared back. The festering wound that was its mouth burst open in a spray of black spittle. Hideous maw agape, it lunged at Runt in an attempt to swallow him whole. Runt threw himself underneath its body to avoid being eaten.

The Broodmother quickly stood to its maximum height before dropping its full weight down upon him. Runt just barely managed to get both his arms above him in time. Darkness engulfed him. He dropped to one knee underneath the pressure, but held. Something cracked in his spine. Runt wasn't sure what but the pain flaming up his backside was unlike anything he'd felt before. He struggled to not to break for if he did then he'd be flattened like a bug.

An unseemly end, but an end nonetheless. He'd be rejoined with his family as he wanted. Runt knew they were waiting for him. Reunited they'd set out and find Risa. His love. In her warm embrace surely they'd all melt away from this world and its cruelties. They'd be free. All Runt had to do was yield. Give up on the struggle. So easy. It'd be over in a second. Why remain and suffer?

 _I told Robin there are things I wish to do, but in reality, I don't know what they are. All I know is where I can find them. They're at Clementine's side. His path is one fraught with troubles. A worthy life awaits me there I think. I will meet it._

Runt held on, the weight upon his shoulders as heavy as the sky and as crushing as the darkest depths of the ocean. What remained of his aura pumped through his veins, fueling him with strength he did not think himself capable of. Runt stood in one fluid motion, taking with him the full weight of the Grimm. He shoved the Broodmother into the air. The colossal arachnid was thrown off balance. Teetering on its back legs, it fell against the edge of the great saw. Its scream filled the Rot Wood.

The lumber mill buckled beneath the Broodmother's weight. It crumbled, burying the great saw in its debris.

Runt staggered. Drained of aura and strength, he fell to his knees. The Broodmother writhed. Its children wailed. An unnatural grating sound like the crossing of a thousand blades. Though wounded, the monstrosity was not defeated. The Broodmother recovered. Its eyes blazed with rage. Something like blood leaked down its body in streams. The black ichor dripped onto the ground where it took shape. Its downpour spawned tiny spiders each with a singular eye and no bone plate. Younglings in their thousands. They crawled over each other like babies.

Together, they swelled into a skittering wave that enveloped Runt. He swung at them, but it was like fighting water. They dragged him to the ground. There were thousands of them all over him. Each one spinning it own web. Runt struggled against them. Thrashing, tearing, even biting at those that crawled too close to his mouth. They restricted him with their black thread. Soon enough Runt couldn't move an inch. Pinned. Entombed in a cocoon of spiders. He laid helpless as the Broodmother came into view.

It loomed over him. Wicked satisfaction made of its putrid maw the ugliest smile Runt had ever seen.

 _So, it knows more than anger. But will it understand regret?_

At that moment something struck the Broodmother in the side of its head. Whatever projectile it was burst into flames, which devoured that side of the Grimm's face. The arachnid turned in that direction only for another shot to hit its face. This one exploded into a crackle of lightning. Its eyes were zapped some of them bursting like popped balloons. Howling with newfound rage the Broodmother took off in the direction of the projectiles.

From behind him Runt could just make out a boy's heaving grunts. Dov charged through the swarm of tiny spiders, cleaving a path with his cudgel. Springing up from behind him, Kaleb landed next to Runt's face.

"Hi!" he grinned.

"My arm." Said Runt.

Understanding immediately, Kaleb pulled out his knife and went to work cutting away the webs that restrained Runt's right arm. Dov moved up alongside his friend, protecting him from the swarm.

"Hurry!" he shouted.

In response to this demand Kaleb took his filed teeth to the webs, gnawing them like a wild animal. However, it did the trick. Runt pulled his arm free and ripped the remaining webs off of him before kicking his way out of his cocoon. The Broodmother was at the other end of the lumber mill, stabbing randomly into the sides of the lair.

The Grimm spawn went crazy. They climbed back down from their nests in search of the intruders.

"They're coming!" Squeaked Kaleb.

Something protruding from the lair webbing caught Runt's eye. "Both of you get out of here." He said, "I'll distract them."

"How?" said Dov with another swing of his cudgel.

"By killing their mother." Runt took off at full sprint. What few strings of web still clung to him were snapped with that burst of speed. Runt angled his path so that he skirted the edge of the lair. On his way he grabbed the thing which caught his eye and tore it from the lair wall. A wooden greatsword as tall as Runt himself. It remained untouched by the rot for it was carved from an elephant tree's core. A substance stronger than steel and sharper than obsidian. The whole sword was a single piece, from its grooved handle to pointed tip.

Amongst the chaos one of the foot soldiers intercepted his path. Runt sliced the Grimm in half with a single swing of the sword. It more than doubled his reach. A jagged edged extension of his arm.

With his mother's sword in hand Runt cut a straight path to the Broodmother who was busy tearing at the webbed wall. In its fury Runt caught a glimpse of the two girls. Eva knelt with a sack in one hand and a blue crystal in the other. She cracked the Dust shard against a piece of old armor before tossing it up. Leona caught the cracked Dust and shot it at the Broodmother with her slingshot. The crystal exploded on impact sprouting shards of ice which snared one of the Broodmother's legs to the ground.

It didn't see his approach from its flank for the Broodmother was blinded by its frenzied rage. Gripping the sword with both hands, Runt leapt and slashed.

Two spindly legs flopped to the ground. The Broodmother whirled to face him, struggling to steady itself on uneven footing. Runt slashed again severing another leg at the ankle. Black dust escaped from the stumps. The remaining Grimm converged to protect their wounded and retreating mother. Runt carved his way through them with surprising ease. Every clumsy swing of the sword was met with a shriek and followed by evaporation.

This continued until none were left between Runt Braun and the Broodmother. The queen arachnid fumbled, back against the ruin that was the lumber mill. Its own massive size prevented it from slipping through the dense trees and it lacked the necessary amount of legs to scale them. It was trapped and like the cornered beast that it was the Broodmother lashed out.

Runt hacked at the attacking legs, biting deep into their ligaments. The Broodmother's weight did the rest. Those half-severed limbs snapped under the strain and the Broodmother fell flat on its belly. Trying as it might, the Broodmother could not use its stumps to lift itself. It merely fidgeted like a turtle on its back. With it lying prone as it were Runt was able to meet the Grimm face to face. He moved close until he was just out of range of its fumbling pedipalps.

After the damage Leona inflicted with those Dust crystals there were only four eyes left. Runt tried to meet them, but the Broodmother refused him. Even when he maneuvered himself into its line of view, it looked away.

 _Was this spite?_

"You understand me, don't you? My name is Runt Braun. This is my mother's sword." At that, the Broodmother fixed its remaining eyes upon him. "You remember them, don't you? My family. You took them from me." Runt glanced around the now empty lair, "As I've taken yours."

What might have been a growl left the Grimm's throat as soft as a whimper. The rage died out in its eyes. The vermilion center that might have passed as its pupil widened. Regret bled down its face in black tears. Recognizing this, Runt raised his mother's sword and drove it through the Broodmother's head, burying it to its hilt. The ancient Grimm before him sagged. Its eyes closed. The surface of its body cracked and flaked. Bit by bit it disintegrated. A much slower process compared to its younger counterparts.

Runt leaned into his mother's sword for support. There he remained, wreathed in black smoke. The muscles of his body ached with exhaustion. He sought to straighten himself but was forced to remain still by the anguish of his spine. Bent backed like an old man, Runt Braun turned towards the four gathered children behind him.

"I thought I told you to go back to camp." He said.

Leona crossed her arms in defiance, "Our lives are ours to do with as we please."

Runt grunted a laugh, "Clever."

Dov stepped forward with Runt's toolbelt in his arms, "Your tools, carpenter. Though I would stick with the one you now hold. It looks as if it were made for you."

Kaleb picked his teeth clean of webbing, "Should've had a sword to start with." He mumbled, "Would've made things a whole lot easier."

Runt accepted his belt and haphazardly swung it over his shoulder. "I'm no swordsman. But you're right. You always need the right tools for the job."

They giggled at that. Even Eva chuckled softly. Runt couldn't wrap his head around these four.

"Why?" he asked, "Why risk your lives to help me?"

Leona stepped forward, "Earlier, at the border of the Rot Wood…I saw you. You're strong Runt Braun. But your fear holds you back." She placed a hand on Dov and Kaleb's shoulders. "However, when its others who are in danger you break fear's restraints. You are a man strongest when you have someone to protect."

"So that's why you came? To motivate me?"

They each gave a collective shrug, "Amongst other reasons. We've all had something taken from us by Grimm. This seemed the best opportunity to do something about it."

Runt shook his head in disbelief and walked past them, using his mother's sword as a cane. "You four are something else."

"Where are you going?" asked Kaleb, still picking his gums.

"The Rot Wood won't heal overnight. It will take time for the corruption to ebb."

"To what?"

"To go away." Explained Runt.

Leona hurried in front of him as if to block his path, "You're hurt."

"I'll heal. Same as the Giant's Thicket."

"You're leaving then?"

"I am," said Runt, "There is a village not far from here. A new one, maybe still under construction. There are good people there. All of them seeking better lives. I can take you, if you let me."

The four children shared uncertain glances. Their confusion and thoughts bubbled in quiet murmurs with one another. Ultimately, they looked to Leona for a decision. The pressure was unwelcome on the young girl's shoulders. Her grimace was a swirl of emotions.

"What of Robin?"

"There are doctors who could help. I cannot make any promises, but there is always hope. I'd drag her there myself if I had to. But the decision, however, is up to her."

Leona shuffled uncomfortably. Those indomitable eyes of hers glanced down at his feet. For the first time Runt saw her as she was, a little girl of ten. "Will…will you wait for me to talk with her?"

"Of course." Runt smiled, though it was a ghastly sight to behold for sure. He was hanging on by just a thread of consciousness. Any second he thought he might collapse and yet he continually surprised himself by staying on his feet.

"Let's head back to camp. Shall we? I'm sure Robin must be getting worried."

Together they departed the Rot Wood, heading the way they came. When the light of day once again spilled out into the Giant's Thicket Dov asked, "Where is this village?"

"To the west." Said Runt, "Near Refuge."

"Could you point it out on a map?"

"I could, but you've stolen it."

"Oh yeah."

A moment of silence passed before the children broke into awkward laughter. Runt Braun laughed along with them.


	4. Chapter 04

The tolling of bells announced their arrival at dawn. A shrill noise accompanying any unexpected arrivals. The alarm rattled the whole village and soon enough a crowd gathered around the front gates where the bells had tolled. Almost the whole village assembled, like a fist clenching in the shadow of the walls. Many kept one hand on their weapons while using their other to tidy up their person as if unsure whether they were about to greet a welcome guest or fend off a hostile.

Mole watched the proceedings from a vantage point on a nearby rooftop. From this distance he had clear sight of everything below. A shout from the Rangers manning the ramparts and the gate was opened. The village walls were built high and thick. They had been the very first things constructed. The walls outlined the base of the hill which the village was built upon. Its massive wooden gates required the strength of four grown adults to open. A slow process. The villagers waited in growing anticipation as the gates were parted.

After raising his dusty goggles to his forehead Mole squinted closer at the lumbering shape entering the village. A giant of a man. It was hard to tell at this distance, but he was easily seven feet tall. The giant towered above the swarming crowd. He carried a sickly woman in his arms and had four kids nipping at his heels. Even at this distance Mole recognized him. He had been a visitor once before. The Foreman's guest, rather. Only then he was accompanied by a strawberry haired prince.

Judging by the crowd's apprehensive reaction towards the giant Mole reckoned a few amongst them remembered as he did.

The scuff of boots down the dirt road caught Mole's attention. Captain Ashur himself marched towards the front gates now, drawn by the commotion. His silvered hair was disheveled, and his clothes stained. Side effects of last night's drunken revelry. There had been no cause for celebration. The whole incident like many others before it was birthed from the Captain's need to ply himself with enough booze as to forget the hole in his heart.

Mole hid himself from the Captain's view. Even hungover as he was, those red-rimmed eyes of his were as keen as ever. When he passed, Mole raised himself back onto his knees. Captain Ashur pushed his way through the crowd until he became face to face with the giant. Words were spoke between the two of them. Mole was too far to discern what either said but before he knew it the Ranger Captain gave the order for the villagers to disperse.

A few remained behind along with Captain Ashur who escorted the new arrivals towards the sick bay. At first Mole thought it was just for the benefit of the unconscious woman in the giant's arms. However, he quickly noticed that the giant walked with an unusually bent spine. Mole had seen such demented posture before amongst those who had lived full lives in the Quarry. The daily labor for years on end led to unnatural growth. Heavily muscled backs and shoulders permanently hunched due to constant restrictions of the tunnel ceilings. However, these unfortunate few were molded this way having lived their growing years in the Quarry. Their form, however unseemly, came naturally to them unlike with the giant now shuffling past.

Pain asphyxiated the man's face with every step. Yet, he carried the clammy pale woman in his arms all the same. Mole followed the group on their way to the sick bay. He remained at a distance, hidden behind the buildings perpendicular to them. Medics came rushing out to meet the group halfway. They took the woman on a stretcher and provided support for the blue eyed giant.

The four kids trailing in the giant's shadow were silent but attentive. They were slightly older than Mole by the look of them. Though, he had been told before that his growth was stunted due to malnourishment and the conditions of his life. Had he remained in the Quarry for another few years he would've ended up just like the others. Short, bent-backed, and crabby.

They vanished into the sick bay and remained there the rest of the day. When night fell Mole snuck around the back where he found an open window. Inside the giant laid stretched out on a bed, his legs dangling off the end. Lying flat across his lap was the man's weapon. A greatsword carved out of wood. The giant rubbed a damp rag across the blade, giving it a burnished sheen.

There came a knock at the door followed by the giant's answering, "Come in."

Captain Ashur entered the room carrying with him a bottle of his most coveted stock along with two glasses. They shared the drink along with each other's company. These two had never met before as far as Mole knew and yet they conversed like old friends. They talked through the night, telling stories of the past. Mole listened from outside just under the windowsill. Its there that he learned the giant's true origin. He was from the Mud District of Refuge. His name however, still eluded Mole.

As the bottle drained their conversation took on a more somber tone. Only then did they speak of Refuge and the events that transpired there. Mole didn't understand everything they said, but he picked up on a few repeated names. Kiera. Buckets. Names spoken of with smiles and tears.

Oh, how Mole wished to know such people. Men and women worthy of such high regard. Stuff of legends like in the fairy tales. He thought Ashur was such a man when he first laid eyes upon him, standing at the top of the Quarry. The distance made him appear almost godlike. Even when they met face to face his visage held such heroism. But it wasn't real. Only a mask. Mole had watched on in horror as Ashur and his Rangers put people to death. People Mole himself had named. Ashur's blade was the one which separated Vance's head from his shoulders. They were evil people. Some would say they even deserved their fate. But Mole hadn't expected such an outcome from Ashur. Not then. Bright heroism had blinded him to the brutality lying beneath. Those deaths were unnecessary to Mole's eyes. The guilt of them still weighed on his shoulders as heavy as a sack of raw Dust. It might've been Ashur who swung the sword, but it was Mole's words that condemned them.

In truth, Mole suspected he only ever knew one truly heroic person. The one who saved him from Vance. That nameless slave. He sacrificed himself so that Mole might escape. What was that if not an act of heroism? Mole didn't see what became of him. When he squeezed out of the crevasse he only had time to run. But he knew the man was dead. Mole saw his blood on Vance's claws when he emerged from the cavern. Dead then, but not forgotten.

Another toll of bells from the village's central watchtower. The sun was rising. Time for the changing of the guard. Mole thought it best to leave before the light reached them. Better to not be spotted.

* * *

"He's gone." Said Runt Braun suddenly.

Ashur lifted his gaze from the now empty bottle, "Who?" he asked.

"The boy outside the window."

"Oh, you mean Mole."

Runt arched an eyebrow at the sound of the boy's name, "That's an unfortunate name."

Ashur belched a laugh, "You're one to talk."

"He's from the Quarry? That young?"

"Mole was born in the Quarry, or so I've been told. Raised as a tunneller under the Foreman's wing."

"Why is he so shy?"

"His whole short life so far has been spent burrowing through tunnels alone. He had no family to claim him. No friends to support him. He's the youngest in the village by seven years."

"Not anymore." Noted Runt.

Ashur hadn't thought of that. Those four kids Runt had brought with him could very well be the helping hand needed to pull Mole into the fold. But Ashur knew children. They could be just as cruel as adults and those four looked a feral bunch.

"You think they'd get along?" asked Ashur.

"Hard to say." Runt studied the drink still in his hands, the contents of which were only half drained. "You haven't tried connecting with him?"

"The kid is terrified of me. He saw something one so young shouldn't have seen. I fear my image is forever tainted in Mole's mind."

"What happened?"

"I slipped up…There were these lowlifes in the Quarry who went on a killing spree. Slaughtered everyone who could finger them out for the scum that they were. Everyone but Mole. He told me and, in my rage, I had every last one of them executed for all to see. To make an example, or so I told myself." Ashur clenched the empty bottle so tight it shattered in his grip. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"You did what you thought was right."

"Right, wrong-Doesn't matter. Now Mole is adrift. He chains himself down with feelings of guilt. Guilt for the very bastards that came so close to killing him. That's what pisses me off the most I think. Mole doesn't have it in his heart to hate them. To think of their death's as blessings like I do. Now he carries a burden as heavy as a stone. Forever on his conscious. Because of me."

"I can talk to him if you like."

"Good luck finding him. Mole hides himself from everyone as if afraid to get close. For the first time in his life he's been given freedom and yet, he has no idea what to do with it."

Runt grumbled a laugh, "Well, if there is anyone who could teach him to be free, it's those four."

* * *

They rose with the sun, eager to begin their day. Of the two that left the sick bay only the girl stopped and looked back, but only for a moment. The shout of her companion prodded her forward. They headed towards the Rangers training in the courtyard. The big lad with the greasy black hair was drawn in by the clang of blunted metal.

Master-at-arms Reaves was instructing new recruits in melee combat. She had them sparring with swords, daggers, and knives. Some were slow paced and hesitant to even make contact with their opponent's blade. Other's were far to eager. However, despite all their zest they were too used to swinging picks at unmoving rock. It's been weeks and Reaves had yet to break them out of their bad habits. Not from the lack of trying however.

As if imagining the whole thing as some sort of free-for-all brawl, the big kid threw himself into the fray. He pulverized two stuttering duelists with his cudgel. Men twice his age. He had all the power behind his swing as the most frenzied of the new recruits, but he had experience. More than just striking at unmoving rock. He tore a path through the unsuspecting recruits before clashing with Reaves. The Ranger Master-at-arms parried or deflected every swing and yet was driven back. They went several feet before she disarmed the kid with a twirl of her wrist. Reaves followed up by bonking him atop his head with the pommel of her short sword.

Dazed, the greasy haired boy fell flat on his ass. When he came to his senses Reaves had her sword point to his throat. It remained there for only a second before she stepped back and kicked the boy's cudgel so that it landed at his feet. Smiling, the boy picked up his cudgel and resumed his assault. A mix of inspiration and rage drove the other recruits to pick themselves back up and continue their sparring with renewed energy.

The shortest of the four new arrivals, a girl with spiky golden hair, ignored the now uproarious recruits. She walked straight past them and joined the group of Rangers at the practice range. Without saying a word, she took out her slingshot and fired off multiple shots one right after the other. Each found their mark center mass on the bullseye targets.

These Rangers were no recruits. Mole knew their faces. They spent every day out at the practice range. Testing their newly adjusted customizations to their own crossbows. Balancing speed and power. Distance and accuracy. Puncture or scatter ammunition. They were obsessed with their craft. Nothing was ever good enough. It's why they kept making changes. Day after day. But even they could not hide how impressed they were by the girl's marksman skills.

Judging by the delighted grins creasing their lips they just accepted this girl and her slingshot into their ranks. They'd train her and make adjustments to her slingshot until it was perfect. Of course, nothing was truly perfect. Not for them. Not for these snipers.

Mole sank to his knees, brought low by what he just witnessed. In the span of a few seconds and without uttering a word those two just integrated themselves into the Ranger ranks. How? Just who were these kids?

The glint of a knife slid in underneath Mole's chin. Its unannounced presence startled him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped Mole from leaping away.

"Don't move." Whispered an unfamiliar voice behind him.

Mole gulped a breath and his Adam's apple just barely grazed the knife's razor edge as it bobbed.

"I knew there was someone watching us. Separate from the crowd. But where? This _village_ , as you people call it, is so strange. So many places to hide. Like an itch I couldn't scratch." A soft cackle betrayed his excitement and self-satisfaction, "But now I've found ya. Do me a favor and turn around. Slowly."

Mole did as he was told. He spun around, the knife following along the way. Wielding the knife was the second boy of the four. The wildest looking of the bunch. Stained by nature. There was something unhinged in his expression. However, as soon as they came face to face the knife fell away and the boy's eyes lit up.

"Woah! Look at those teeth! Are they real?" he reached out with one grimy hand, but Mole scrambled backwards out of his reach. "You're a faunus. Aren't you? I always wanted to be a faunus. Look!" He hooked a finger in his mouth and pulled back his cheek and lips to reveal a set of filed teeth flecked with scraps of breakfast. He mumbled something else, but it was unintelligible.

"You do that yourself?" asked Mole.

The wild boy let his cheek go with a wet slap, "Yep. Every other week I sharpen and clean them."

"Why?"

"The fangs of an animal are far more useful than that of a human. You of all people should know that."

"I guess."

The boy sheathed the knife at his hip. "I'm Kaleb. What's your name?"

"Mole."

"You're from that Quarry I keep hearing about?"

Mole nodded, "And where is it you're from?"

Kaleb licked some bits of morning breakfast from his teeth. "What did Runt call it? The Giant's Thicket?"

Mole cocked his head, "Runt? Is that the little girl out there with the slingshot?"

Kaleb's eyes bulged, and he doubled over, "Never let her hear you say that." He laughed, "She's Leona and if you ever call her a runt or a little girl to her face she'll shoot off your ears."

"Then who is the runt?"

"The giant we came here with. Runt Braun."

"Runt Braun." Mole repeated the name just to test how it matched up with the image he'd built up ever since that day at the Quarry. Somehow, he found it oddly fitting.

"You know him?" asked Kaleb.

"I've seen him before. That is all."

"And what of this Ashur? Runt spoke highly of him, but he doesn't look like much and reeks of medicine."

"Captain Ashur is the leader of the Rangers." Explained Mole, "He founded this village."

Kaleb cocked his head to the side, "Founded?"

"The people here were slaves once, but he freed them. Built this place for them."

"What is a slave?"

The sudden question caught Mole off guard, "What?"

"That word." Said Kaleb with some disgust, "Slave…I've heard it mentioned many times on the way here. Spoken like a poison on the tongue. What does it mean?"

"A slave…Well, a slave is like a prisoner. Only they're forced to work or to serve another."

Kaleb picked dirt out from under his fingernails as he thought about it, seemingly confused. "So, like a child is meant to serve their parents?"

"Never thought of it that way. You're close, but unless that child is under threat of some kind of punishment then I wouldn't call them a slave."

"Aren't they? My mom always punishes me when I don't do what she says." Kaleb spoke with bitter resentment. His eyes, Mole noticed, kept glancing at the sick bay.

"That woman you came here with…Is she the mother of you four?"

"She is my mom, Robin is her name. Dov and Leona are brother and sister but no blood relation of ours. And Eva-Well, who knows with Eva?"

"Your mother is sick?" asked Mole, careful with his tone.

Kaleb considered for a moment before giving a simple nod, "She's dying."

"Oh…I'm sorry."

"Have you seen Eva?"

"What?"

"The tall one with the long black hair. You've been watching for some time, haven't you?"

Mole decided it best to keep up and ignore how quickly he pushed past the subject of his mother. "She's not in the sick bay?"

"Nah. Woke up and she was gone. Must've slipped out. Something about this place has got her spooked. I think she is the only one among us with recent memories of a _village_. Perhaps being back is a little to overwhelming?"

Mole could understand that. Too many nights he's awoken in fright. Head and heart thumping in discorded unison. His dreams would bring him home to the Quarry. There he'd stand in front of the Foreman, knees trembling and arms full of Dust. The Foreman would pluck one such shard from him and inspect it. That cherubic face of his would lax in disappointment and just like that he'd raise his pick. The strike to his head would be swift and indifferent and when Mole startled awake he could swear his head was pounding from the blow. Such were his fears of returning.

 _But that was the Quarry. What memories could taint the image of a simple village in this girl's mind?_

"I'll keep an eye out for her." Said Mole.

Kaleb shared a jagged smile, _"_ Thanks. Though I wouldn't put to much hope in finding her. Eva is elusive. Like a ghost she could simply vanish if she pleased. She'll be back before long though. That you can trust. We may not all be blood related but we're family. Besides, she can't resist her stomach forever."

* * *

Storm clouds gathered in their swirling masses, blotting out the sun and casting the world in shadow. Lightning crackled in its midst. Once Mole had been afraid of storms. Above the Quarry where the very air was tainted with Dust remnants. Resulting storms were aberrations of destruction. They rained acid and shot down pillars of flame. Mole used to hide in his tunnel during such an event. Sometimes the cavern itself would quake beneath the storm's onslaught.

These experiences had made Mole rather numb to mundane weather. The storm now brewing above was nothing more than a pouting cloud. Mole didn't pay it much mind. Not even when it thumped its fists in booming thunder.

Mole moved through the village his mind preoccupied by what the boy Kaleb had said. If being child to a parent was to be a slave, then did that mean Mole was born free? What is freedom anyway? Everyone seemed to have their own definition of the word. The Rangers freed them from the Quarry and yet, here they lived restricted by rules created by the Rangers themselves. Rules, which just like the Quarry, are punishable if disobeyed. Like what happened with Vance and his group. Did these people of the Quarry then simply trade one slavery for another?

Could they ever be free? For without another outside party to set these rules people would do it themselves. They'd craft codes of honor or morals and adhere to them else risk mental or even physical retribution onto themselves. Even the dismissal of rules and the embracement of anarchy was like committing yourself to a cause. One in which you become enslaved to. Then perhaps the only way to be truly free was to be dead?

These thoughts rattled Mole's brain to the point of exhaustion. In the end Mole cast the thoughts from his mind as if unburdening himself of a heavy load. With the sun masked behind ever darkening clouds it was hard to tell the time of day. But Mole estimated it had only been a few hours since departing the courtyard. Kaleb was right about one thing. This village had many places to hide and Mole knew them all. If that's what this Eva girl was doing, then it was only a matter of time.

By midday Mole had found her. He had been checking the alley behind the tavern when he heard a whimper. It sounded as if it came from the tavern itself. Using a wooden box as a step Mole peered through the back window into the tavern supply room. Crates of food and drink lined the many rows of shelves filling the dark interior. Mole scanned the room for any twitch of movement in the darkness but saw nothing.

Another sob reached him as soft as a brushing breeze. It came from the tavern, but not within. Dropping onto his hands and knees, Mole looked underneath the recently constructed building. It had been elevated little more than a foot and a half above the ground to allow rainwater to flow downhill rather than soak the flooring. In the center of the tavern's underbelly was the huddled form of a little girl. Her body was trembling perhaps from the cold or the sobs which escaped from her with every shudder.

"Eva?"

The call of her name made the girl jump. Long black strands hid half her face, which was coated in dirt and streaked with tears. She immediately started to crawl her way out from under the tavern, thrashing as if she were drowning. Her rushed flight shocked Mole into silence. He could not call out to her again, so he raced to meet her at the front of the tavern. However, when rounding the corner, he saw Eva had already sprung free and was zipping down the street at a pace Mole could not match. She left him in the dust more than a little confused and overtly worried.

A few villagers had noticed this incident and were now staring at Mole from afar no doubt wondering what the boy must've done to scare the girl so much. Casting his gaze into the dirt, Mole walked on, wading through the silent judgments thrown his way. They piled on until Mole became lost. His stroll became a ramble through the village. He didn't look up until he reached the courtyard again and he only did so when he heard the stomping of footsteps coming his way.

The small girl with the slingshot marched towards him. Anger flared her face into something fierce. Her glare halted Mole in his tracks. Before he knew it, she was upon him. A hand to his shoulder and the sweep of a leg brought Mole flat on his back. Leona leaned into him, her elbow pressing on his sternum.

"What did you do to her?" she growled.

Mole could not respond. The wind had been knocked out of him and he was seeing stars.

The girl applied more pressure onto his chest, "Did you make Eva cry?"

"I…Eva she-Under the tavern." His mutterings only seemed to anger her.

The boy he met earlier, Kaleb, edged forward a bit. "Leona lay off him. He didn't do nothing."

"Shut up!" She snapped, "I've never seen Eva cry before. Something must've happened."

A crowd was gathering around them. The melee recruits, Reaves, and even those crossbow obsessed Rangers tore themselves from their practice range. None interceded.

Mole blinked up at the enraged girl on top of him. He knew he should be afraid, but he wasn't. Her anger burned bright and clear. Nothing as frightening as the ambiguous wrath of the Foreman. Or as powerful as the colorful storms. Nor as sinister as Vance's claws. This lack of fear made him uncaring in his words.

"You've never seen her cry," he said in a passive voice, "because she hides."

A flash of lightning momentarily blinded Mole. Or was that Leona's fist, which struck him in the face? Pain shot through Mole's nose enough to water his eyes. Reaves plucked Leona off him and tossed her into her brother's grasp. Dov turned his enraged sister around and led her away towards the sick bay as if hauling away a rabid animal. After a few seconds' concerned hesitation, Kaleb followed them.

The Ranger master-at-arms stood over Mole with her hands on her hips. "You should be careful what you say to that one. She's got a fiery heart and a short temper."

Mole blinked the pain from his eyes but did not offer a response. Master-at-arms Reaves remained there a few more seconds before giving up and moving past. The rest of the crowd dispersed as well, leaving Mole to lay in the dirt. Blood trickled from his nose and down his cheeks to where they pooled in his ears.

The first few drops of rainfall descended from the dark clouds above. Mole still refused to get up even when the dirt beneath him turned to soft mud. At last, Captain Ashur arrived. He stared down at him, those red-rimmed eyes filled with a bloated sadness that hid everything else. His silver hair had turned to a more grayish hue of late.

The Captain knelt down and held out his hand. Mole stared at the gesture of help. That hand, the very one he used to take Vance's head. Mole pushed it away and scrambled to his feet. Now eyelevel their gazes met briefly before both pulled away and went in opposite directions. Mole to his hovel of a home and Ashur to the tavern for another night of celebration.

* * *

Dripping wet, Ashur burst through the tavern doors. Without even bothering to hang up his soaked cloak he made for the bar. The only other person present in the tavern was the appointed tavernkeeper himself. A dour faced man by the name of Benton. The poor tormented soul looked moments away from slipping into sleep before Ashur arrived with all the rowdy clamor of a parade.

Benton rubbed crust from his one good eye, "What we celebrating tonight?" he asked.

Ashur reached behind the bar and plucked a bottle from the shelf. Benton took out a drinking glass for him but stopped when Ashur uncorked the bottle with his teeth and pressed it to his lips.

After a few gulping swigs Ashur raised the bottle, "To freedom! And peace." His toast echoed in the empty tavern. Once again, he brought the bottle to his lips.

"Easy," said Benton, "Ashur, look, that's the only bottle I can give you tonight."

"Huh?"

"Our stock is running low. If we're going to want it to last the rest of the month until the next shipment arrives then I'm going to have to start limiting you."

Benton spoke those words with the air of a true authoritative figure, but when Ashur met his eyes the strength failed in the man. Benton's will might have been strong once, but fear and doubt made of the tavernkeeper a brittle thing. Benton ranked among the few humans imprisoned in the Quarry and the only one to join the Rangers in their pilgrimage. Evidently there was nothing waiting for him outside the Quarry. Ashur suspected this is what ate away at him more than the years spent enslaved. When they first met on that day of salvation, Ashur looked up from his tome of names and saw standing across from him a man with a burning desire to be needed. To be valued. Nothing was more important to Benton.

Once, Ashur had satisfied Benton in this regard. He'd come stumbling in almost every night with a thirst. In those drunken hours Benton was the most valued man in the village to Ashur's eyes. But now, he disregarded the man completely. He didn't even let Benton offer him a glass.

"I'm sorry," said Ashur as he turned from the bar, "I understand. You'll have no trouble from me."

"Where are you going?" asked Benton.

"To set my hands to purpose." Ashur stopped at the tavern doors, "See to it that our supplies lasts the month. I leave you in charge of our stocks. If any take issue, then tell them to talk to me."

Benton straightened with the responsibility of his new task, "I-I will." He stammered.

Satisfied that the tavernkeeper now had his hands full, Ashur took to the street and made his way to the front gates.

Past the walls of their little village lay untamed countryside. Rolling hills of lush green with patches of trees the leaves of which bloomed pink. Lilac and lavender flowers sprinkled the ground for miles. A breathtaking sight. However, the storm's downpour turned the fields into swamps. Its violent gusts of wind tore the petals from the flowers leaving the naked stems shivering in the cold. Ashur stumbled along with his khopesh in one hand and a half empty bottle in the other. He was determined to find a creature of Grimm.

A good fight may just lift his spirits. After all, he never felt more human than when he was slaying monsters.

With no real destination in mind, Ashur roamed the countryside for some time. He stopped to take a swig when he felt eyes upon him. Glancing out of his peripherals he could spot no one. The rain hid most in its haze. Ashur raised his khopesh out before him in a point. His outstretched arms trembled with the effort.

"Come and face me!" he shouted spinning so that he addressed all around him, "I'll cut down every last of you mindless beasts!" His taunting provoked no reply, something which disappointed Ashur more than he expected.

Lowering his sword to his side, Ashur turned around to continue his walk when a winged shadow fell upon. Giant feet snatched him in a vice of a grip and lifted him off the ground. Before Ashur even knew it, he was fifty feet in the air and climbing higher still. The Nevermore had plucked him from the dirt as if he were a vegetable. Its bone white talons scraped across his aura, which was being squeezed out of him like juice from a lemon.

 _Damn bird!_

Managing to wriggle one arm free Ashur brought the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. It'd do no good to break free now. The fall itself might kill him. Better to wait for the Grimm to land. Ashur hoped it'd bring him to its nest or whatever they called home. Then he could slay it and all its family.

A bolt of darkness pierced the Nevermore's leg and the Grimm screeched, releasing its grip on the Captain. Ashur plummeted to the ground faster than the rain. The rush of air filled his lungs and stung his eyes to the point of watering. At the last second Ashur struck out with his khopesh, hooking the curved blade on a tree branch. He kicked his feet, using the momentum of his fall to swing himself back up, but his speed was too great. Ashur sawed off the branch which he clung to and was tossed back into the air without control. He crashed and rolled down a sloped hill, hitting every jutting rock along the way.

The screeching of the Nevermore pierced the storm. The loss of its dinner must've upset it greatly for it looped back around to retrieve him. Ashur stirred, struggling to manifest his depleted aura. Wings folded and tucked, the Nevermore dove towards him like a great spear. It outstretched its wings to catch the wind only thirty feet above the grass. It soared towards him belly to the ground with its beak open and ready to gobble him up. And yet, another bolt from the dark clipped its wings.

The Nevermore veered away only to circle back around for another sweep. Ashur got to his feet determined to cleave the Grimm when it came at him again. However, it made no attempt. Instead it flapped its mighty wings, unleashing a volley of black plumage which stabbed the ground like arrows. One feather just barely missed, striking only an inch from his foot. Ashur glared at the feather tip buried in the dirt. Watched as the contents of his drink soaked into the soil. All he held onto now was the neck of the bottle and a jagged base. The rest of the shattered glass lay scattered on the ground.

Angered beyond reason, Ashur charged the Grimm. As he ran the specks of his whitish gray aura gathered around him like a swarm of fireflies. The field of his vision distorted as if stretched. The Nevermore soaring towards him only seemed to be getting further away. Ashur gripped his khopesh with two hands and angled the edge outward. The light gathering around him exploded in a flash of blinding radiance that could be seen miles away.

Ashur slid to a stop two hundred feet away from where he just was. He glanced over his shoulder. The ground tracing his straight-line path was burnt as if someone had taken a giant magnifying glass to it on a bright summer's day. In the distance the Nevermore skidded across the fields, leaving one of its wings behind.

From the cover of the trees a figure darted out. It pounced on the Nevermore before it could recover. A few quick dashes gutted the monstrous black bird like a fish. It flopped to the ground and started to dissipate. There were only a few among the Rangers capable of dispatching a fully grown Nevermore with such ease. And only one would go through the trouble of following him.

Master-at-arms Reaves sauntered towards him, blades still bared. She had an annoyingly distracting sway to her hips as she walked. The true grace of a dancer. Her cloak, as well as the rest of her attire, was comprised of grays and blacks. A darker sort of camouflage compared to their typical greens and browns. The only one like it in the whole division. Ashur didn't like what it implied. Reaves chose it as a deliberate means of self-isolation. As if to say she weren't a ranger, but an assassin whose skills flourished under the cover of night.

Ashur halted a few paces from her, "Reaves. What are you doing out here?"

Reaves threw back her hood. Shoulder length straight black hair and bangs framed her face like a painting on display. "Just taking a little stroll. Getting some fresh air."

"It's pouring out." Noted Ashur.

"Good thing I like the rain then." Said Reaves with a smug smirk, "Thanks for clipping big bird back there. Gave me just the opening I needed."

"I meant to bisect it right down the middle, but I must've slipped in the rain."

"Or more likely you're drunk. Otherwise you would've noticed me following you long ago."

"I'm not drunk."

"Just getting old then?"

Ashur offered no response but a sneer.

"I'm sorry about earlier with the kids. I should've pulled her off Mole sooner." When Ashur made no comment on that she continued, "Heard you put Benton in charge of our food stocks."

 _Just how long has she been following me?_

"There was no need. Our stocks are stable. We'll actually be getting a resupply before the end of the month. In case you wanted to know. We have an established trade route with Refuge now thanks to Roland Teal."

"Who the fuck is Roland Teal?"

"An empathetic bartender. Or so he named himself. He's the only reason we made it through winter."

The harsh memories of blistering cold and snow chilled Ashur even then. "Thank you." He grated, "You've really come into your own."

"Out of necessity. Someone needed to take charge while you've been fucking about."

"I will name you Captain in my place-"

"Fuck that." Reaves spat, "Don't dump your shit on me. They're your burdens. Or have you forgotten? You're the one who dragged this whole division onto this road of redemption. We followed you. Even when it went against our own personal interests. We stepped onto that road and became the shepherds of a broken people. For you. Then she died. A passing mourned by all and yet, you break down like a child."

"Watch yourself Reaves." Warned Ashur in a growl.

"No. She was my love too. Whether you'd admit that or not."

"But she chose me."

Reaves' smile was sharper than any blade she carried, "Yes, she chose you. After she told me I wanted to kill you. I snuck into your tent that night and watched over you while you were asleep. I looked at your neck and was that close to slicing it. The thought of the pain your death would inflict upon her was the only thing that stayed my hand that night. And if I'm being honest, I came to understand why she chose you. Ashur, our Captain who shines the brightest. So resolute and fierce. I was only ever meant for the shadows. Now look at us. You've crawled into the darkest corner and forced me out into the light. Just to suit your weaknesses…I would give anything to twist fate. To exchange your life for hers."

There were tears in her eyes. Ones Ashur initially didn't notice for they were disguised in the rain.

"I would do the same." Said Ashur, "Give me the means and I'll plunge a dagger into my heart to bring her back."

"Then perhaps you're not all gone. Not yet anyway." Reaves sheathed her blades at last, "I have an ulterior motive for seeking you out. There is word from Refuge. An Atlesian Agent wishes to speak with you on the whereabouts of one Sanguine Stroud."

"Is it Mr. Stroud himself?" asked Ashur.

"No," said Reaves with a shake of her head, "it's only an envoy. What message would you have me deliver?"

"Tell them the truth. Sanguine Stroud died a hero."

"And if they're to inquire further about the circumstances of his death?"

"Then tell the fucker up in Atlas to come down himself if he wants to find his son."

"As you say." Reaves made to leave but stopped when she seemed to remember something. She turned around and gave a curt salute, "Captain."

She promptly melted into the shadows and was gone from sight.

* * *

Before Mole could make it back home he was stopped by one of the Rangers who had watched what happened. He forced Mole to turn around and head back into the sick bay. There one of the medics had a quick look at his nose. After determining it wasn't broken they gave him a rag to stifle the blood and sent him off. By then it was pouring out. The street became a coursing river and Mole had no intention of getting swept away in its current.

The young faunus retreated to an unoccupied room at the back of the sick bay. He sat in a chair with his head tilted back and two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. The rag stuffed up his nostrils made it difficult to breathe, but Mole managed. This was nothing. Sometimes tunnels would get flooded with smoke or dust and he'd be forced to breathe through a rag for hours on end. One time he even coughed up blood after a prolonged stay in a clouded tunnel. The Foreman gave him some medicine to help because he was a tunneler. A valued tool. Mole well knew that many other adults who had similar symptoms received no such treatment.

Trapped by the storm, Mole spent the night listening to the pitter-patter of rain striking the sick bay roof. Some time passed when there came a squeak at the door. Mole flicked his gaze downward to spot Eva slipping into the room. Long raven hair fell over her face in tangled strands. The grime of hiding under the tavern had been washed away from her pale skin. Her arms were crossed, but not in a frustrated or dominant way as he'd seen from the likes of Reaves. It looked like she was holding herself as if seconds away from shivering. But that didn't make any sense. A fire kept the sick bay warm.

Neither said a word to each other. Eva inched forward until she was standing before him. With gentle hands she reached out and touched his face. Mole sat frozen as her fingers worked their way over his jaw and bulging teeth. She pulled out the rags clogging his nose and tilted his head back to peer down his bloodied nostrils. Satisfied that the blood flow had ceased, she took a step back. With hands holding him steady at the sides of his head, Eva stared at him as if to commit every detail of his face to memory.

"You've seen me." Said Eva, her voice just barely above a whisper.

Mole's hand moved on its own. He reached out and brushed the hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. She had almond shaped eyes the color of hazel. Greenish blue at the edges while smudged with brown around the pupil. The mixture of pigments was slightly different in each eye. Something only those close enough to see would notice.

"Now I have." Replied Mole.

Eva shied away out of his reach. Her hair, which he fixed behind her ear, fell back over her face but she adjusted it with a flick of her hand.

"Kaleb said that you vowed to find me. Why?"

"Because I thought if anyone could it would be me. I know all the nooks and crannies to hide here."

"I'm sorry." Said Eva as she moved past him to look out the back facing window, "Leona can be overprotective."

"You don't let them see you cry."

Her silence, Mole knew, was just another attempt to hide her emotions. This girl has spent her whole life hiding it seemed.

"You're not like the others." He continued, "There is something different about you. Something fragile. I'm the same way. I don't belong here. I should've died back at the Quarry. But I was saved for reasons I can't comprehend."

"Was it this Captain Ashur who saved you?"

"In a way, I suppose."

"Is he a good man?"

Mole hesitated, "He…Captain Ashur is a fair man."

"Fair?" Eva spoke as if she didn't know the meaning of the word.

"Neither good nor bad." Explained Mole, "He reciprocates. Answers kindness with kindness. And delivers death to death dealers."

"He is a warrior then. Much like Runt Braun."

"Yes," agreed Mole, "they both have sad eyes."

"It's the curse of those who try to save others. Try as they might, they can never save everyone. This knowledge eats at them."

"Runt Braun saved you?"

"Actually, we saved him. Dov, Leona, Kaleb, and I. Together."

"What of Robin? Kaleb's mother, right?"

The mention of Robin silenced Eva for a time. In that span of quiet the rain swallowed up every other noise. When Eva found her voice again it was somehow quieter than last time.

"Aunt Robin thinks as you do. That she doesn't belong to this age. She wants to die. But we selfish children won't let her."

"You force her to live?"

"Whether she does or does not is now out of our hands."

"Is that why you were crying?"

Eva stiffened. Her fingers, which were holding her elbows, tightened their grip so that her nails were digging into her skin. "Leona can't stand the thought of losing Robin. Or anyone for that matter. Dov shoulders all this as he thinks he must. But its Kaleb I'm worried about. He doesn't understand his mother's want for death. He thinks she is abandoning him and so has in turn, abandoned her."

"But you understand?"

"I am torn. I want Robin to live as much as they do, but I don't want her to suffer either. And that's exactly what life has become for her…Suffering. Even if she beats this sickness and lives healthy she'd just feel-"

"Unneeded." Finished Mole.

Eva sighed, "That's the truth of it. At least in her eyes."

A burst of silvery light flashed in the distance momentarily illuminating the village. Eva took a frightened step backwards away from the window.

"Lightning?" asked Mole.

Eva shook her head, "It was too white."

"I've seen storms of all colors."

"Really?" her face lit up with a hint of a smile for the first time. The sight of it made Mole's chest hurt. "I would love to see such a thing."

"Just not too close."

She furrowed her brow at his meaning, "What is your name?"

"People call me Mole. And you?"

"I'm Eva."

Mole already knew her name but hearing her say it aloud sent a tingle down his spine. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but before he knew it Eva was heading for the door.

"I better get back before Leona breaks another person's nose looking for me. Goodnight, Mole."

It was all he could do to simply raise his hand in a static wave goodbye.

* * *

Ever since the battle at the Quarry the Rangers have proven themselves capable of many things. Against the Ophidians and Grimm, they were fearsome warriors. Out in the wild they were survivalists able to live off the land no matter the environment or harsh conditions of weather. However, what surprised Mole the most was their desire for comfort. Whenever they were given the chance they'd go all out, cooking great feasts for themselves and their charges. Mouthwatering strips of pheasant. Steaming stew and bread which rose higher and fluffier than any Mole had ever sunk his teeth into.

What was once a rare occasion on the road has now become commonplace ever since things have settled here in the village. Just about everyone, Mole included, were grateful for the Ranger's skills in the kitchen. Thus, every morning a line stretched out from the mess hall and down the road. Mole waited in line, hiding in the shadow of the man in front of him. The line itself moved slowly but steadily. It reminded Mole all too well of when he was first released from the Quarry. There was a line then leading to a desk. On that day it was Master-at-arms Reaves who sat behind it recording names into a large tome. Mole, he had told her. No last name was ever given to him.

There was something dead in the woman's regard. Mole had spotted it before reaching the front of the line. Her gaze moved through people. She asked for their name as if talking to the wind and her hand recorded whatever was spoken without pause or consideration. Her mind had been detached but her body was still going through the motions. Mole had seen fellow tunnelers enter such a state. It was rare that they ever returned to normalcy. However, when Mole poked his head over the desk and spoke his simple name Reaves flinched back to reality. She had looked down at him, curiosity wrinkling her face.

 _"That's an unfortunate name."_ she had said.

 _"It's the only one I have."_ He replied.

Reaves then set her pen down and leaned across the desk until her face was directly before him. She was pretty in a plain, hard-edged sort of way. Her face was creased with dried tears. Back then Mole didn't know why. But, he knew now that the cost of their release was paid for with the lives of Rangers. She grieved for her lost companions. No doubt about it. But what did she see when she looked at him? It must've been something because she didn't say another word and after a time she eased back into her chair and waved him along. Reaves returned to herself that day. Mole didn't know how, but he knew to be happy that she had. Without Reaves they never would've survived. In Ashur's absence she took the reins despite hating every moment of it.

Lost in his thoughts of the past Mole found himself at the front of the line in the mess hall. He quickly scrounged up breakfast and hurried along. Ignoring the open seats at many of the tables, Mole hastened towards the exit doors. Before he could reach them however, someone stepped in his path. He wore a Ranger's uniform, freshly made. The grip of his cudgel poked over his shoulder.

 _Leona's brother. Dov._

"You Mole?" asked the older boy, "I assume so. Who else has chompers like those?" Dov held out his hand, "The names Dov."

Mole raised his hand but paused. In his hesitation Dov snatched his hand and forcibly shook it. Dov studied their handshake as if confused by his own actions.

"This is what normal people do when they introduce themselves, yes? Reaves said a handshake is a representation of one's character."

Mole watched his limp arm bounce in the older boy's firmer grip. "I wonder what that says about me."

Dov released his grip and stepped back, "Eva is looking for you."

"What?"

"I guess looking is the wrong word. She won't leave the sick bay. Don't know why. Asked me if I could find you for her."

"She wants to see me?" asked Mole in disbelief.

"If you have the time."

"I do."

"Then here," Dov handed him a brown paper bag, "I got her breakfast. But if you're going to head over there now mind giving it to her?"

Mole took Eva's breakfast in his hand, "Strange." He said aloud.

Dov raked dirtied fingernails through his greasy black hair, "What is?"

"I thought you were the slow brute of the bunch."

A twitch of bemusement flashed across Dov's features before the older boy broke into a hearty laugh. "You say what's on your mind without fear of retaliation. As Runt Braun once said about us, you're either very brave or very foolish. I admire that. And so, I won't blacken your eye."

Dov turned and headed towards the courtyard where Reaves was instructing the recruits. Mole stared out after him for a time before heading to the sick bay. Last night's storm left the whole village glistening. Morning dew soaked the grasses. Rain trickled from the sick bay roof into its gutters. The shouts of the recruits created a sort of chorus to the surrounding area. One that broke the silence left by the clearing skies.

Mole slipped inside the sick bay and hurried to the room he knew they occupied. Outside the door he could hear two voices. One of which belonged to the little girl, Leona. Her tone teetered on the edge of bitter rage and forlorn sadness while somehow managing to remain neutral. The other voice was far weaker and unfamiliar to Mole. He assumed it belonged to the sickly Robin. The two of them bickered with one another. Mole couldn't make out all the words, but he knew well enough to not interfere. So he continued on, moving from room to room in hopes of finding Eva waiting within.

A few rooms down Mole found the door to Runt Braun's room ajar. He poked his head inside and whispered, "Eva?"

Runt Braun laid flat on his stomach stretched across two beds. Both his arms dangled to the sides of the bed with knuckles touching the floor. Hundreds of tiny needles protruded from his bare back like a porcupine. Mole had seen such a trait from a fellow faunus at the Quarry. Crystal blue eyes fixed on Mole as he peeked in.

"Ah," said Runt Braun, "You must be Mole. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Mole entered the room upon being greeted, "Actually, we've met before. I saw you at the Quarry along with the Prince. The Foreman gave you two a tour."

Runt visibly startled at that, "That day Clementine and I were undercover. We were investigating the Quarry, so we could better learn how to stop it."

"Its alright. I know. I saw your face."

"Oh…"

"Does it hurt?" asked Mole.

"Does what hurt?"

Mole wagged a finger at the needles protruding from the large man's back. "Them obviously."

Runt Braun chuckled, "Truth be told I don't even feel them. Or the rest of my body for that matter. Right about now I'm as limp as a dead fish."

"Why'd they stab you so many times?"

"I'm not sure of the logic behind it all, but these needles are placed in very specific spots and are meant to help speed along my healing process."

"Are you sick like Robin?"

"No. I just hurt my back is all."

"Oh…"

"You're looking for Eva?" asked Runt Braun.

"You heard that?"

"I hear lots of things."

Mole wondered at his meaning before responding, "Dov told me she wanted to see me."

"I see. Well, right now she's caught in the middle of an argument between Leona and Robin."

"What are they arguing about?"

"I can't rightly say. I don't like to eavesdrop."

"But you could?" asked Mole.

"Yes, but just because you could doesn't mean you should." He smiled at Mole, "You've met all four of them now, haven't you? Tell me, what do you think of them?"

"I thought Kaleb was the crazy one. But he is like an animal. One at least I understand. Dov and Leona though-They confuse me. Already Dov is fitted in Ranger uniform. How did he do it? To find his place amongst them so easily…"

Those crystal blue eyes studied Mole intently, "What's stopping you?"

"I'm of no use to them."

"And?" Runt Bruan waited but when Mole failed to offer up a reply he continued, "You place too much value in usefulness. Sure, each of us have a role to play but that's not how bonds are born. You don't make friends based on how useful they can be. You do so because you respect their resolve, or share their ideals, or they make you smile and laugh. Do you understand?"

"But I'm nothing like them."

"That's good. The best of friendships can come form the most unlikely of places. Trust me."

Mole wasn't sure how to respond to that, so he remained silent. After a moment Runt Braun spoke again, "They're done arguing. You can see Eva now."

"I thought you didn't eavesdrop." Said Mole.

Runt raised his hand and pointed to the doorway. Mole spun around to find Eva there watching him. As if the sight of him reminded Eva, she quickly brushed her hair out of her face. Just like he had done the other night.

"You two run along now." Said Runt Braun, "Leave me to get some sleep."

Eva motioned him to follow and led him to another empty room at the other end of the sick bay. Upon closing the door behind them Mole spoke, "Dov said you wanted to see me?"

She gave a small nod in response.

"Here," he handed her the brown paper bag Dov had given him, "Breakfast. I figured we could eat together."

Eva sat down on the cot and neatly unpacked her breakfast. Mole took his place next to her and did the same. For a while they sat together, nibbling on their meals. They shared the occasional tentative glance and even brushed arms whenever one of them wriggled in their seating. This dragged on for a while. Eventually, Mole was forced to break the silence.

"Dov seems worried about you. Says you won't leave the sick bay."

Eva neither confirmed nor denied anything with her flat expression.

"Its ok to be scared," said Mole, "I understand. This place doesn't feel like a home to me either. I imagine its much the same for just about everyone from the Quarry. We came here because we had no where else to go. It's not perfect, but at least it's safe."

"Is it?" asked Eva, "How could anything this far from civilization be safe?"

"It was civilization which kept us enslaved. I've never felt its warmth before, but I've heard enough to know that we're better off without it. If it's the Grimm you're worried about the Rangers will keep us safe."

She said nothing to that. Something in her tense expression made Mole think that she was worried about more than just creatures of Grimm. Whatever it was it frightened her into eternal silence.

When they finished their food, Mole stood and wiped the crumbs from his lap.

"Follow me." He said.

Eva moved her feet up onto the cot so that she sat hugging her legs, "Why?"

"I have something I want to show you. Don't worry. I know this village better than those who built it. I can take us there without being spotted by anyone else."

He tried to smile at her, something he knew most to consider an unsettling sight. His large naked mole rat front teeth made it difficult to show much expression with his mouth. A grotesque he's been called, even by his own fellow faunus. However, he now doubted those words for Eva saw something in his smile that disarmed her doubt. Mole wondered what it could be as he led her from the sick bay.

They zigzagged their way across the village, using Mole's knowledge to pass unseen. Down the hill they went to the very edge of the walls. There Mole dispersed the leaves and sticks hiding the entrance. Eva hesitated at the precipice, but Mole held out his hand to her and shook took it. Together they descended into the tunnel. Mole was all too aware of how sweaty his palm had become. If she minded at all she gave no voice to it. Eva's skin was smooth to the touch, which made it easier for his own calloused hands to notice the bump of a scar across her palm.

Not far from the entrance where the sunlight could still reach them, Mole found his lantern and the rest of his tunneling gear from his days in the Quarry. After a few strikes of flint, the flames blossomed. The lanternlight lit the way further down.

"What is this place?" asked Eva with wonder in her voice.

"I'm not good at building walls or chopping wood." Explained Mole, "But I am good at tunneling."

"You made this?"

"The caverns were already here. I simply followed the veins to the source."

"Veins?"

Mole guided her hands to the tunnel wall and helped trace the streaks of crystal with her fingers.

"This village was built on a hill for the strategic advantage of the high ground. But way before we arrived others settled here in all likelihood to mine the shiny rocks within the hill itself."

"How do you know all this?"

Rather than answering Eva, Mole decided to show her. The tunnel fed into the caverns. The wall, ceiling, and even parts of the floor were covered in jagged crystal the likes of which Mole had never seen despite all his years in the Quarry. They were rather unambiguous at first glance. White clear crystal resembling quartz. Was it some sort of Dust or another kind of natural resource? Mole didn't know. But he watched these crystals bathe in the lanternlight, their clear surfaces slowly becoming smoky.

Eva moved closer behind him to the point she was practically breathing down his neck. Mole didn't mind. He knew most were made uncomfortable by these deep trenches. Many villagers here would rather die than enter a tunnel again. It was one of the main reasons he didn't show this place to anyone before.

Mole moved his lantern closer to the cavern walls, illuminating what was drawn upon them. Splashes of ancient paint still clung to the rough surface. This particular scene, if he was reading it right, depicted a battle. Simplistic strokes defined the ranks of warriors gathered in a circle. They wielded jagged swords and spears of which Mole guessed were made from the very crystals found in this cavern. A black formless ring surrounded the people. Creatures of Grimm. Their red eyes were unmistakable peering out from the swirl. Eva took in the sight with awed silence.

"There are more," said Mole, "Further down the cavern. I think it's a depiction of their history. From death to birth."

Eva placed her palm flat against the wall painting. "I've never seen anything like this before. Thank you."

"This is not what I wanted to show you." Said Mole, "Not all of it at least." Eva turned towards him with a quizzical look. He lowered himself to the ground with his back against the wall. She followed his example and sat closely next to him to the point that their shoulders were pressed together.

"Don't be alarmed." Said Mole right before he blew out the lantern flame, plunging the cavern into total darkness. In that instant Eva's hand gripped his arm and squeezed. The darkness remained for only a second before being banished by a new light far brighter than the lantern. One by one the crystals flickered to life, each shard glowing with the same orange hue as the lantern flames.

Eva giggled the most delightful sound Mole had ever heard, "What is this?"

"I call them Mirror Rock. They copy any light shined upon them once its been extinguished. I don't know how, but each crystal so touched by its warmth shares the same color and glow. In that painting above us I believe that the swirl of blackness is night itself. But the people wield weapons of Mirror Rock and so they shine with the radiance of the sun just set."

They sat there for a while in silence. Simply enjoying the mythical sight of the Mirror Rock's glow. As time passed they drew closer to one another to the point that they were both leaning against the other. Shoulder to shoulder. Eva's hair carried with it a scent of lavender. The Rangers had produced such sweet-smelling shampoos and bath salts from the fields of purple flowers outside the village. They were as good with herbs as they were with meat. Mole wished he had bathed today as well. Or at least this week. He never minded his own dirtied self but sitting here with Eva he was keenly aware of every possible flaw he possessed. It was agonizing and yet, it made his heart race.

"Mole," the sound of his name leaving her lips somehow changed the whole meaning of it. Not an unfortunate name as Reaves had said, but a blessing. "Mole, do you know everyone in this village."

Mole considered her question for a moment, "I wouldn't say I know them well. But I learned their names and their roles. Ranger and former slave, both."

"I thought the same once before. Back in my birth village. I knew everyone in town. Their names, faces, and smiles. But it was a lie. I had deceived myself. In truth, I knew nothing of them or what they were capable of." She took a deep breath, "One day, our hunters returned with news that a Grimm horde was on its way down from the mountains. We were just a small settlement far outside the borders of the closest city. Much like this village. We called for help but knew none would arrive before the Grimm were upon us. And if we ran they'd overtake us in a few days."

"So, what did you do?" asked Mole, his voice hoarse.

"People panicked of course. Smiles I once thought I knew distorted themselves. I quickly realized that I didn't know anyone. Not really. In a desperate attempt to save themselves, some villagers came up with a plan. A means of diversion." Eva choked on her words but was unable to stop herself from continuing, "I don't know how they decided or why, but I was chosen. The village leader and his most fanatic citizens stole me from my home in the dead of night. Took me a day's ride away the village. Farther than I've ever gone before. They sliced open both of my palms and left me tied to a tree. They hoped my blood and my screams would attract the Grimm away from the village, giving needed time for the rest to flee. For what felt like days they left me there. Both arms outstretched to my sides, blood dripping from them. I was unable to even kneel for they propped me up like a puppet."

Eva held out both her hands in front of her. The twin scars across her palms gleamed in the crystal light. For some time, she just stared at them as if trapped in her own memories. Mole found he could not move or so much as even breathe aloud. Her story frightened him. Mole didn't think anything could horrify him anymore. And it wasn't even over. She continued her unrelenting tale.

"My mother learned of what they had done. She found me and sprung me lose. She spirited me away from that horrid place. We returned to the village to find it already overrun. The Grimm it seemed cared little for my cries. My mother hid me and herself in the shed of our home. She pleaded with me, begged me not to make a sound. But I couldn't stop myself. My hands hurt so much. They cried tears of red that would not abate." Eva's hands closed into small fists, "The slightest whimper attracted them. My mother ran out, drew the encroaching Grimm away with flailing hands and vicious taunts. They chased her out into the darkness and I never saw my mother again."

"Why do you tell me this?" asked Mole, shaken.

"Because the village leader is here…in your village. I saw him at the front gates when we first arrived." Eva pulled in her legs and wrapped her arms tightly around them. "I hid myself behind Runt Braun, but if he were to learn of my presence he'd kill me."

"I won't let that happen."

Eva started to weep. The same cry Mole heard from under the tavern. Only now it echoed in his heart.

"Why haven't you told Kaleb?" asked Mole, "Or Leona? Or Dov?"

"Because they'd kill him."

"You don't want him dead?"

"I don't know." She confessed, "I've seen so many die. I don't think I could bare to witness anymore."

Something cold gripped Mole's soul which no amount of crystal light could warm. "Who? Who is he?"

"The tavernkeeper." Sniffled Eva, "The one they call Benton."

* * *

Beside the mess hall were the barracks. A wide one-story building that housed the majority of the Rangers along with their armory of weapons and gear. Mole waited till midnight when most were asleep before slipping through a back window they kept open for the chill night breeze. The whole building was one singular room. No hallways or doors to have to peak through. The only thing that stood in Mole's path were the rows upon rows of cots, each housing a sleeping Ranger. Only the faintest of candle lights illuminated the barracks. It was all Mole needed. Like many faunus he could see better in the dark than humans.

Leaving his shoes outside the window, Mole began to tip toe his way through the sleeping Ranger ranks. With any squeak of the floorboards no matter how small Mole froze and waited. Thirty seconds. A minute. However long he thought he needed. When he felt satisfied that no ranger was roused he continued on. From the Rangers themselves came a rustling of sheets as they turned about to get comfortable and even some raucous snoring.

On the other side of the barracks was the armory. There were stacks of crates filled with crossbows and ammunition. Weapon racks holding an assortment of blades. Mole moved stealthily towards it. The creak of the barracks door opening caused him to go stiff. The scuff of boots announced the lone Ranger's return. Panicked, Mole hid underneath an empty cot. His heart raced as those footsteps drew closer. Mole covered his mouth and nose with one hand to stifle his breathing. He watched as those feet walked down the row of cots only to stop at the very one Mole hid underneath.

Gloved hands undid the number of straps and ties which held the boots tight to her feet. The Ranger then kicked her boots off and fell back onto the cot. Her weight sunk down mere inches from Mole's face. Mole laid there until the woman's fidgeting stopped and her breathing fell into the slow rhythmic pattern of sleep. Only then did he crawl his way out from under the cot. On hand and knees, belly to the ground, he slithered the rest of the way towards the armory.

The weapon racks were lined with swords, long knives, and various types of axes. The larger the weapon the higher up it was placed. Mole couldn't reach that high, but it didn't matter. He needed something small. Something easily concealed unlike a sword or his own pick for that matter. Mole inspected the number of daggers on display. There were quite a few of them within reach, but all he needed was one. If he took anymore then it would only increase the risk of being discovered.

Mole picked out the plainest of the daggers. It had a simple wooden handle that fit well in his calloused hand. He pulled the blade out of its leather sheath. The steel was darker than he expected. It appeared almost black. The blade didn't reflect light like normal steel causing it to blend in to the darkness.

"A fine choice." Whispered a voice behind him.

Mole stiffened but did not turn around. He couldn't even if he wanted to. His whole body became paralyzed just by the sound of her voice. Mole recognized it almost instantly.

"That dagger used to be mine upon a time." Said Reaves, "But I decided to rid myself of it. A blade like that was only good for one thing and I was done with that life. Or so I thought." The Ranger master-at-arms spun Mole around to face her. "What use do you have for it?"

When Mole didn't respond she sighed and held out her hand. Mole reluctantly placed the dagger in her open palm, which she then tucked away into the folds of her cloak. Reaves knelt down so that the two of them were eye level. For a few painstaking seconds she just stared at him with those black eyes of hers. Mole found he couldn't meet them and instead stared at her feet. She too wore no boots or shoes as to better mask any sound she made.

"Go home." She said at last, "Don't let me catch you sneaking about here again."

Mole hurried past her. He raced through the barracks not caring for the noise he made and fled through the double doors. Night welcomed him in its smothering embrace of darkness.

* * *

Ashur drew the damp rag across the blade of his khopesh, wiping clean the steel. Its been a while since the Ranger Captain had polished his weapon. Too long. It was just one of the many routines and responsibilities he had let slip as of late. But ever since Runt Braun and his quartet of little kids arrived he has been shaken awake. Old habits returned to mind and he was denied the necessary amount of booze to wash them away. Their presence was a sting. A jolt of life which set Ashur to purpose.

His khopesh gleamed with the new morning light. Every nick was now clearly visible on the polished blade. Its history. Ashur could recall the story of almost every scratch upon its surface. This one from his time spent fighting bandits on the road. These were when he battled Ira Glass' enemies in the very streets of Refuge itself. The most recent notch was when his khopesh hit the spine of one of those Ophidian brothers in the fight to free the Quarry. There were other more ancient marks from the time before he called this sword his own. It was family relic passed down since the days of the Great War where it splashed the deserts of Vacuo with blood.

A shadow blotted out Ashur's sun. He glanced up momentarily before bringing his attention back to his khopesh.

"You've come to lecture me?" he asked.

"No." replied Reaves.

"Then what is it you want?"

"Thought you should know, I caught Mole sneaking about in the barracks late last night. He tried making off with a dagger."

Ashur halted in his polishing and glared up at Reaves, "Why?"

"He wouldn't say. Mole has always been an odd boy. Blunt and ambiguous. But last night I saw something I've never seen from him."

"What? What did you see?"

"Anger." Said Reaves, "Unbridled anger. Just thought you should know, Captain." She gave another flimsy salute and wandered off back to her courtyard.

Ashur's face fell to his khopesh once again. He resumed polishing it, but his mind was elsewhere.

 _A dagger? What need does he have for one?_

Distracted, Ashur's hand slipped, and he sliced his finger on the blade's edge. The Ranger Captain stared as a welter of blood seeped from the gash.

 _That's right…Blades are only meant for one thing. Mole what are you thinking?_

* * *

The sun shined down upon Mole who sat on a nearby rooftop, eyes fixed on the tavern across the street. Exhaustion formed heavy bags under his eyes and yet sleep avoided him. He considered visiting Eva again, but the thought of seeing her turned his stomach with rage. An unfamiliar emotion. Mole couldn't remember the last time he experienced it. He's known despair and loneliness all his life. Yet he'd never let himself be bitter about it for there was nothing he could do. However, hearing Eva's story tore at his soul. An overwhelming sense of despair clung to her voice, but like him, she wasn't angry. She didn't even want Benton killed.

Mole grew angry in her stead. He'd deal with Benton, so Eva wouldn't have to cry anymore. She could come out of hiding and be with him in the sunlight. Together Mole knew they could do anything. Even join the rest of the village as Leona and Dov have already done. The thought made Mole smile. But, first, something needed to be done about Benton. Mole glared at the tavern door. The man was within. All alone this early in the morning. If only Reaves hadn't intercepted him. Then he would've had all he needed to-

Movement caught his eye on the far left of his peripherals. Mole whipped around in time to see Kaleb throw himself over the village walls. He landed on the ramparts, but before any Ranger could spot him he stealthily lowered himself back into the village. Suspicious, Mole ran to where he thought Kaleb was heading. The buildings were constructed rather close to one another allowing Mole to jump from rooftop to rooftop with relative ease. However, upon reaching a rather wide alleyway Mole was forced to climb down.

Before Mole's feet even touched the ground, someone grabbed him by the back hem of his shirt and yanked him down. Mole fell flat on his back. He tried to rise but Kaleb placed his knee on his chest, pinning Mole to the ground.

"Huehahaha," laughed Kaleb, "Nice try Mole, but nobody can sneak up on me anymore. Not even Runt Braun."

"You're the one who's sneaking." Replied Mole.

"True, but even when you're sneaking you can still be snuck up on and surprised. Then Leona will remind you about it relentlessly. But I've gotten better now. She won't have an excuse anymore and won't that just press her buttons." Kaleb removed his knee and offered Mole his hand. Mole took it without question and Kaleb pulled the faunus boy up onto his feet. "Upsy-daisy."

Where Dov, Leona, and Eva have cleaned up some since their arrival here, Kaleb has only gotten worse. His clothes were tatters and his shoes had floppy soles in desperate need of stitching. A string of animal carcasses was slung over Kaleb's shoulder, adding to his stench. One odd thing Mole noticed was that he now had flowers in his hair. Plucked lavenders and lilacs protruded from the tangled mess. They were so out of place Mole suspected Kaleb didn't even know they were there. However, it was the hilt of his knife sticking out from his belt which caught Mole's attention.

"What were you doing outside the walls?" he asked.

"Just went to check on my traps. This area has a lot of game."

"But why not use the front gate rather than scaling the walls?"

Kaleb considered a moment before shrugging, "Seemed easier. Less people to deal with anyway. You understand, don't you? Why else would you be skulking about on the rooftops?"

Mole opened his mouth to reply only to find he had no words to answer that. Kaleb pinned him with the truth as easily as he did with his knee. "You could just get food at the mess hall."

"That place is congested with strangers. Besides food tastes better when its earned."

"Dov doesn't seem to have a problem with it."

"Of course he doesn't," scoffed Kaleb, "Dov and Leona fell in love with this _village_ the moment they set eyes on its walls."

"But you didn't?"

"This place is too crowded for my liking." Kaleb grimaced, "They see walls and think we're protected. I say we're caged. We never should've come here. Mother, didn't even want to be saved."

Mole recalled the argument he overheard in the sick bay the other day. The sound of Robin's weak voice trembling to match Leona's.

"Have you spoken to her recently?"

Kaleb mumbled to himself. Something about robbing bandits in the mountains. If he heard Mole's question he gave no sign.

Mole sighed, "I'm jealous of you."

"What?" Kaleb staggered back a step.

"I never knew my parents. I don't know if they're dead or what. But I'd give anything to speak with them. If only just once. Whatever the circumstances, your mother is still alive. Speak with her while you still can. Please…"

"Have you been talking with Leona?" When Mole shook his head, Kaleb hissed which came out as more of a whistle through his filed teeth. "What do you say to someone who doesn't want to live?"

"Hello is a good place to start."

Kaleb rubbed his eyes red, "Would she even want to see me now?"

"I can't say. But if I were you, I'd go to her all the same."

"Heh. You're wiser than you look. I suppose with those teeth of yours you'll be underestimated your whole life. Lucky you." Kaleb took a shuddering breath, "So be it. I'll see her."

"Good."

Before Kaleb turned to leave he took out his knife and offered it to Mole handle first. "Take it," he said, "You've been eyeballing it this whole time. I assume you need it for something. I won't ask. Just give it back to me when your done."

The wild child left Mole in the alleyway with an unexpected gift. It was heavier than he expected. Its weight caused his whole arm to tremble. For a while Mole just stood there, staring at the knife's edge. He waited until his arm stopped shaking before turning around and heading towards the tavern.

The door was unlocked. It opened with the faintest of squeaks. Mole eased it closed so it wouldn't make a sound. The tavern was empty. Chairs were flipped up onto tables, leaving the floor open. Behind the bar came a rustling sound. Mole moved towards it, knife in hand. He found Benton in the backroom high up a ladder. The man rummaged through supplies on the top shelves while scribbling notes onto a clipboard. The task consumed his attention. He didn't even notice Mole enter.

After a quick look around to make sure no one else was present Mole approached the tavernkeeper atop his ladder. It was only when Mole was within five feet of the ladder did Benton notice him with a start. His alarm faded though into a relaxed smile.

"Oh jeez," he panted with a hand over his chest, "you nearly scared me half to death." He laughed then but quickly stopped when Mole didn't join him, "Can I help you with something, kid?"

Mole tried to speak but he found his mouth had become paralyzed. Benton raised a skeptical eyebrow before checking off something on his clipboard and climbing down the ladder. Mole had never paid Benton anything beyond passive inspection. But now, he couldn't help but examine the tavernkeeper.

The human had a lumpy face for humans weren't a popular crowd in the Quarry. All the beatings left Benton's face permanently disfigured with swells and bruises. One particular beating left his right eye sluggish and clouded over. Mole stared into that lame eye and wondered what it could see.

"You're Mole, aren't you?"

It was all Mole could do to nod.

"Well," said Benton, "I gotta say Mole…I don't like the way you're looking at me. Is there something wrong? You hungry? I was about to head over to the mess hall myself." When Benton tried to step past, Mole moved his arm out to the side, revealing the knife.

Benton went still, "What is this?"

"You need to leave." Said Mole, his voice a croak.

"Like I said, I was just about to head to the mess-"

"No. The village. You need to leave the village and never come back."

"What are you on about? Mole. Stop looking at me like I've done something wrong!"

"You hurt her."

"Who?"

"You cut her hands and left her to die."

At his words Benton's jaw went slack. His face behind that unkempt beard paled. He took a step back, bumping into the ladder and almost knocking it over.

"I don't know what you're saying."

Mole jabbed the knife forward in a point, "I know what you did."

Benton licked his suddenly dry lips, "Look, you're obviously confused. Mole, put the knife away."

"You need to leave." Insisted Mole, "If I tell Ashur he'll kill you just like he killed Vance and his group. I don't want that, so you have to leave."

"I have nowhere to go, Mole. You know that. That's why I'm here!" Benton stepped forward causing Mole to recoil in alarm.

"Stay back!" he shrieked, "Go out the back door. Take a horse from the stables and leave."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"She told me."

Benton's bottom lip quivered, "The girl survived?"

"Her name is Eva!"

The sound of her name was like shockwave that sent Benton reeling. He clasped his face with one hand and squeezed. Through the gaps of his fingers Mole could make out his clouded eye lulling in its socket.

"I see…She came with the giant. The one with the long hair covering her face. My, how she's grown. Ok Mole, you win. I'll go…I'll go. I'll-"

Benton's clouded eye fixed on Mole and in that instant the man charged him. He closed the distance between them in two easy strides. Mole slashed with the knife, but only managed to graze Benton's shoulder before the man's hand reached his throat. The ground left him. Mole was raised kicking and gasping into the air. He landed a few good kicks to Benton's jaw and temple before he was slammed down. Strobes of white light flashed across his vision as his head hit the floor. Mole's grip on the knife slipped and the weapon went flying across the room.

Just like that all his strength was gone. He had only the energy to squirm in Benton's suffocating grip. The man leaned over him. His clouded eye cried a single tear of blood. The expression upon his face twisted with shock and revulsion as if he just realized what he was doing. For a moment his grip loosened, allowing Mole to cough a few breaths. The ragged sound startled Benton.

"What I did to Eva I did to save everyone else. The girl was dead either way. The Grimm were coming, I was left with no choice. Just as I am now." His grip tightened once more around Mole's neck this time with the added pressure of both hands, "I won't abandon my home. Not again!"

Darkness swelled at the edges of Mole's vision. He could no longer feel his own hands clawing in their feeble attempts to set him free. Mole watched helplessly as his small life flickered away. That is until a bottle broke across the top of Benton's head. Bits of glass bit into the man's scalp. Another pair of arms tore Benton from Mole's sight.

There came a crash. Distant. Almost inaudible. Like the clanging of the Vulcan Industries workshop all the way in Refuge. He was just able to pick up the noise from within his tunnels at the Quarry. He burrowed deep just to hear that noise. The clamor of another world just out of reach. He would fall asleep sometimes listening to it. Perhaps that's what this all was. Just a dream. He'd wake any second now back in the Quarry.

 _No, I don't want to go. Not now. Not when I'm so close…_

* * *

Ashur knelt over the unmoving form of Mole. He pressed his ear to the boy's chest and listened to the faintest heartbeat pounding away. Ashur breathed a sigh of relief. Mole was unconscious, but alive. By the look of things when he arrived the boy must've been seconds from dying.

Anger flared in his veins like a burning poison. He had thrown Benton through the walls. The tavernkeeper crashed across the street where already a crowd was forming. Some were helping Benton right himself, but they quickly melted away upon Ashur's approach. Whatever they saw in his eyes brooked no argument. Ashur caught sight of Reaves as he marched towards Benton.

"Help Mole, he's inside."

Reaves and a few others entered the tavern through the hole Benton's body had made in the wall.

No one said a word as Ashur grabbed Benton by the throat and lifted his face. Stupefied, Benton couldn't even formulate a single word.

"Why?" asked Ashur through grit teeth. When Benton didn't respond he punched him across the face. "Why?!"

Benton blinked and spat blood. Ashur waited for the man to regain what little sense he had left. However, by the time Benton collected himself the man was incapable of saying a word in his defense. He just cried. The tears of a guilty man. Ashur knew it the second he laid eyes upon Benton with his hands wrapped around Mole's throat. There is no reason in the world for such a thing. None Ashur would stand for.

Ashur dropped Benton to his knees and unsheathed his khopesh. The drawn blade produced a shriek as it escaped the leather scabbard across his back. He raised the blade high in the all too familiar stance, ready to part Benton's head from his shoulders. But before he could swing the sword someone grappled him from behind. A weak tackle, which barely budged Ashur. But it stopped him all the same. He glanced down to see Mole with his arms around his waist and eyes staring up at him.

"Don't," he pleaded, "please don't."

The world returned to Ashur's ears. It was not silent as his rage had him believe. People were shouting. Their confused faces distorted as they looked at him. Many had gathered. Even Runt Braun emerged from the sick bay, with those four kids in toe. One of the girls, the taller one with the long hair was shouting Mole's name. Again, and again. It wasn't until her friends cleared a path to him did she stop.

Slowly, Ashur lowered his khopesh.

"Reaves. Take Benton into custody." He met her dark eyes, "Figure out what's happened here."

She nodded, "Yes, Captain."

Mole broke away from Ashur and rushed the raven-haired girl. The two collided in an embrace that took them both to their knees. They cried and muttered apologies to each other the reasoning for which Ashur could not discern. He and the rest of the crowd were stunned by the display of emotion from those two children. Even the other kids were confused.

"You heard the Captain!" shouted Reaves as she pulled Benton to his feet, "Disperse. Let us figure out what's happened. Recruits back to your drills. Dov, you lead them. And as for you Rangers on duty, I expect you back on those ramparts in the next ten seconds."

As commanded the crowd dispersed. The boy Dov wrangled the recruits and led them back to the courtyard. Those distracted Rangers returned to guard duty at the wall ramparts. Reaves and a couple of others shoved Benton towards the barracks. After a few short whispers they were quickly followed by Mole and the raven-haired girl whose name still escaped him. Soon enough it was just Ashur and Runt left standing in the street. The giant met the Ranger Captain's eyes and gave an approving nod.

"You did the right thing." He said.

Ashur dropped his khopesh into the dirt, "I almost subjected him to the same thing as I did at the Quarry."

"But you didn't."

"But what if I should have? What if he deserved it?"

"He may very well have. But Mole didn't deserve to witness it. You spared him of that. You spared them all." Runt Braun straightened to his full height without a grimace of pain on his face, "Thank you."

* * *

Mole and Eva explained what happened and the history behind it. Ashur could hardly seem to believe it, but when he confronted Benton the man confessed to it all. Everything went quickly after that.

Before the sun had set Benton was exiled. He departed through the village gates with his face downcast in shame. He carried only what he owned from the start. When he was offered food, he denied it. Mole watched until he disappeared on the horizon before returning to the sick bay. Ashur waited for him at the entrance. The silver haired Ranger stood like a sentinel at the door. Firm and stationary. But when Mole approached he saw how Ashur changed. The nervousness on his face. The man was practically trembling before his presence.

"They're all inside." He said, "My medics say Robin will live. They were successful in purging the sickness from her body."

Mole beamed, "Really?"

"Yes. In a month's time she will be fully recovered."

"That's good."

"Yes, that it is."

The Ranger Captain could hardly meet Mole's eyes. There was such pain in them.

 _He is like Mirror Rock. Reflects all that is given to him, but only brighter. Anger becomes fury. Happiness to overwhelming joy. I see that now._

"Ashur, I understand..." His words only seemed to confuse the man, so Mole continued, "I understand why you did what you did at the Quarry. You lost someone. Reaves told me. You were angry for her sake and weren't thinking. I now know what that's like. When Eva told me, what happened to her I was unable to think clearly. When I walked into that tavern I honestly wasn't sure if I was there to kill him or not. I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad you didn't. I'm sorry if I've caused you pain all this time. Please, forgive me."

To Mole's surprised Ashur pulled him into a hug, "There is nothing to forgive." He whispered, "Its over now. You've set me free. Go. Be with your friends. Eva is waiting for you."

Mole squeezed Ashur with all his strength before gently splitting apart. The smile on Ashur's face made him look ten years younger. Breaking out into a smile of his own, Mole rushed inside.

Eva greeted him at the door to Robin's room. She took his hand and led him inside. Runt Braun grinned at him from his seat in the corner. Dov patted Mole on the back in a rough but friendly gesture. Even Leona acknowledged his arrival with nod of her head. Their greetings were brief for their attentions were dominated by the scene in the center of the room. Kaleb was crying into his mother's shoulder. The woman held her son with tender care, whispering "I love you." Repeatedly into his ear. Mole's heart nearly burst at the sight.

* * *

She stopped him on the road some miles away from the village. In the dark he didn't even notice her presence until he was ten feet away from where she stood, waiting for him.

Benton let out a cold laugh, "I knew it'd be you."

"You were spared, Benton. Not forgiven. We both know you'd be better off dead."

"Did Ashur send you?"

"No. I've come on my own accord."

"How will you do it then?"

Reaves unsheathed her dagger. The black steel was almost invisible in the night. "This is the blade Mole originally chose. He has a good eye."

"He's a kind boy," said Benton, "Don't rope him into your ways."

"That's almost funny coming from the man who nearly killed him."

"It was the heat of the moment."

"Bullshit. Mole said how you hesitated before committing to the murder. And with the knowledge you possessed that means you also meant to kill Eva as well. What was the plan then? Indulge me, I'm curious."

Benton's fists trembled, "I was going to hide them both in the tunnels the boy loves so much. I-I had a few Dust crystals left from the Quarry. I would've used them to collapse the tunnel on them both."

"What tunnel?"

"He's made himself one underneath the village itself. You'd know if you paid attention to such things."

"Huh." Said Reaves, dismissing his insult, "A sound plan then. I appreciate you telling me the truth."

"Then indulge me in this final request. Bury me. Please. I don't want to be eaten by Grimm or anything else."

"Request granted, though I am sorry to say that even beneath the dirt you'd be eaten still. Only over a longer period of time. The worms will feast on your carcass bit by bit until there is nothing left but bones."

Benton stared at her, jaw agape, utterly terrified.

Reaves smirked, "You have that to look forward to at least."

He looked ready to say something else, but the flick of Reaves hand silenced him. Benton looked down at the dagger protruding from his chest right where his heart should be.

"A quick death." Said Reaves as Benton dropped to his knees. "More than you deserve."

With a final gurgle Benton fell face first into the dirt, punching the dagger so that it protruded from his back. Reaves sighed, "What a waste of a final request. Of course I'm going to bury you. Can't leave you out for anyone else to find. Should've wished for a casket. Oh well, either way I got a hole to dig."


	5. Chapter 05

For one of the few buildings to go through the destruction unscathed, the World Theatre wasn't much to look at. As far as Nero was concerned it was a poor investment on fate's end. Refuge would've been better off if another building was spared such as the Citadel or the Trade District Bazaar, or even one of the many clubs which populated the Flower District. Anything but this shabby excuse for a theatre. The velvet seats were old and ratty. Children operated the stage rigging, making many stupid mistakes in the process. The aisles themselves were sticky, though Nero suspected he knew why. His fellow audience members consisted mostly of drunks and hobos.

The World Theatre was a sham imitation of the grand operas Atlas held. Nero was no true fan of the theatre, but his mother dragged him along many times. He'd seen the heiress, Weiss Schnee, perform live. All Refuge had to offer paled in comparison to that little girl's voice. Still, Nero stuck around until the last of the pathetic performances came to an end at the stroke of midnight. The paltry applause which followed was pierced by the clank of metal as Nero brought his gauntleted hands together. When the clapping ended two lavish women skimpily dressed in burlesque sauntered onto the stage and bid their audience goodnight. They wore bright smiles as if they were treating a full house rather than the handful in the auditorium.

When the curtains closed Nero made his move, sneaking backstage. Things were slowing down then. The multitude of mediocre performers were finishing their goodbyes and heading out for the night. The crew of children scampered around laughing and shouting at one another as if they were playing a game. One girl chased a boy with a prop wooden sword held above her head.

The pair ran past Nero who caught the little girl by the wrist, bringing her to an abrupt halt. She looked up at him without fear. On the contrary, she inspected the gauntleted hand which held her in place. Her yellow eyes burned with fervent curiosity.

"You're doing it wrong," Nero guided her arm to her waist, "When chasing an opponent, don't hold your weapon above your head. Keep it low. At any moment he could turn on you. With a sword it would be much easier to thrust forward rather than hack down. You can skewer him like a boar before he even reached you."

"Its not a sword," she pouted, "it's a hammer."

"Looks like a sword to me."

"I couldn't find a prop hammer. So, we're just pretending."

"My mistake then, you're right. But I advise finding something else besides that slab of wood. A wrench maybe, to mimic the weight of a real hammer."

The little girl smiled at that idea. The boy she had been chasing on the other hand did not find it all too appealing.

"Raina," the larger of the two lavish women put herself between the girl and Nero, "Run along dear."

The little girl named Raina flashed a wide grin at Nero before darting off after the same boy she had been chasing. When she was out of earshot the woman set her sights on Nero. She eyed his gauntlets. Robust grips of metal stretching up to just below the elbow. Their ornate design drew the eye of many. Though only a few keen minds could ascertain its true nature. The woman was not one of them. She looked him up and down with crossed arms, pushing up her already obvious cleavage.

"Atlesian, huh?"

"Uniform give it away?"

"Not really," she shrugged, "It's the way you stand which gave you away. I've seen a lot of Atlesians come and go recently. They all stand like you do. Like they have a stick so far up their ass it tickles their throat. The name's Monnie by the way. What's yours?"

Nero's scroll vibrated in his pocket. Pulling his eyes away from the woman, he took it out and read the brief but stern message.

 _'Stay on task.'_

"Am I boring you?" asked Monnie with a sway of her hips.

Rolling his eyes, he faced the woman again, "My name is Nero. I'm with the Atlesian Special Operatives Unit."

Monnie whistled as if impressed, "Sounds fancy. Though you seem a little young for a Specialist. What's brought you my way? Grown bored of the Administration District already?"

Nero's smile grew thin, "Meaning no offense Monnie, but I'd like to speak to the one in charge around here."

"Who do you think you're talking to, dear? I hold the deed to the World Theatre."

"All the same. I'd like to speak with the one in charge. Can you get her for me?"

Monnie's feigned charm fell away easier than would her makeup, "If you insist. Wait here. And don't talk to any of the kids. Don't want you filling their heads with any of that shit you were fed growing up."

She spun around in a huff and walked off, disappearing in one of the back rooms. Despite the warning, Nero did not keep put. He wandered backstage, waiting to be received. The place was littered with instruments and outfits, most of which the children just left on the floor. If Nero had to guess he'd say the World Theatre appeared more like a daycare center than anything else.

The sound of giggling drew him around. Nero spotted Raina standing triumphant over the boy with a foot on his chest. The boy squirmed and pleaded, but she didn't let him up until he admitted defeat. The girl seemed familiar to Nero. Something about her fiery eyes and charcoal hair.

"Can I help you?"

Nero turned to face the woman who spoke. Dark eyes met his. She was younger than he expected, around his own age. Unlike the other two women traipsing about in costumes and makeup, she appeared rather plain. She wore a velvet suit and had short cropped blonde hair. Her face matched her apparent demeanor, rigid and bore. Which was a shame really. She could be beautiful if she put in the effort.

Nero held out his hand, "You must be Alice."

She didn't even look at his extended offer, "If there is nothing I can help you with, I'll have to ask for you to leave. The theatre is closed."

"Actually, there is something you can help me with. See that girl over there," Nero pointed out Raina amongst the playing children, "She seems so familiar to me, but I can't quite place it."

"Her name is Raina Vulcan."

"Ah, the daughter of the infamous Marcus Vulcan. What's she doing here in the Flower District?"

"We watch over many children here," said Alice, "Those with no place else to go. We give them responsibilities. Help nurture their passions. Provide guidance. As well as a place to play."

"Their parents can't do the same?"

"They are otherwise detained during the day. They work hard to get by. We help lighten the load when needed."

Nero reexamined the menagerie of wayward children lurking about, "Oh, I see now. Victims of the bombing."

"Earthquake," corrected Alice.

"Of course," scoffed Nero, "I won't keep you long. I'm hoping you can help with a curiosity of mine."

"Depends on the curiosity."

"Has to do with the 'earthquake' you mentioned. I don't know if you know, but the World Theatre is one of the few establishments untouched by the events of that day. In fact, it's the only structure in the Flower District to be unharmed. Why is that do you think?"

"Just lucky I suppose."

"Not only that, but from what I hear you and your fellow theatre friends were not in the city that day either."

"That is correct."

"May I ask why?"

"Spool, the previous owner of the World Theatre tragically passed away some time before the earthquake. We who cared for him took his body to his home village outside Refuge where we buried and mourned him."

"A convenient tragedy I'd say, considering the devastation you missed."

Alice's brow furrowed, "Like many in this city I am grateful for all the help Atlas has provided in bringing stability back to Refuge. But if you refer to Spool's death as a convenience again then I will remove your teeth, one punch at a time."

In the tense silence that followed Alice's threat Nero's Scroll vibrated. He took it out and read the message silently to himself.

' _She's serious. Back off.'_

Nero slipped his scroll back into his pocket, "My apologies, it wasn't my intention to anger you."

"Whoever said I was angered?"

Nero chuckled, "Consider my curiosity satisfied. I'll be going now. Perhaps we'll meet again."

"Perhaps not."

With a curt nod, Nero took his leave of the World Theatre. Alice tracked him as he went. He could feel her gaze stabbing into his back. Even when he put the World Theatre behind him the sensation of her emotionless glare digging into his spine did not dissipate. She knew more than she let on. Far more than a simple theatre manager should. But Nero didn't want to risk going further off track. He had a mission to do.

The Flower District hummed through the night. Its sundered, cracked streets reverberated with the rhythmic beat of the music which permeated the air. While the other districts slept, the Flower District blossomed. There were many bars and clubs to attend. Gambling dens and brothels to enjoy. Enough mindless pleasure for a whole city to forget its troubles and then some.

Still, as Nero understood this was just a shadow of its former self. Ever since the news of the slave mine came out Refuge became a less popular tourist attraction. This, however, didn't stop the locals from turning up. Quite the opposite in fact. They drank until they passed out in the gutters and danced as if possessed. The Flower District was a fever burning hot. Nero breathed it in deep, allowing himself to taste the freedom bestowed upon him.

He marched through the district, the mute colors of his uniform drawing the occasional curious glance from those he passed. Their open hostility fed the fire burning in Nero's belly. His destination was not hard to find. Wonderland was the biggest dance club the Flower District had to offer. Its neon strobe lights could be spotted miles away.

Nero pushed through the double doors, entering the club. The security encroached around him, but one flash of his badge sent them scurrying back like whipped dogs. A long hallway stretched out before him, leading to the main dancefloor. The walls were mirrors, casting infinite reflections on both sides. With every step the booming beat grew louder. Nero strode past several ravers caught in a tangled embrace. The heat of their passion fogged the mirrored wall they were pressed up against. They were either too drunk to know they were in public or simply didn't care. Regardless, Nero passed them by with an amused chuckle.

The hallway opened up to Wonderland. A large open area with a tall roof fixed with lights, which painted the club in darkish pink hues. The music thundered, deafening people to their own thoughts. Despite its intensity, a single saxophonist blared on stage providing a catchy rhythm to the electric beat. A large light panel hung on the wall behind the stage, flashing psychedelic images into the club. Nero spotted the bar in the back, just past the sea of bodies.

There were hundreds of them tightly packed together. Their hips swayed to the rhythm, rocking back and forth like a ship caught in a storm. Nero plunged into their midst without a second's hesitation. In their blissful states they grabbed at anything that moved. They scratched and pulled as if they were drowning in their own ecstasy.

Nero waded through, shoving people out of the way when necessary. He parted the clutching mass, emerging on the other side with his uniform torn loose and several smears of lipstick across his face. Managing to find a seat at the end of the bar, Nero sat down and wiped his face clean with a spare handkerchief. The bartender, a spry man in a pink suit, prepared drinks in an extravagant display of spinning bottles. Though Nero gestured to the bartender, the man's attention went elsewhere.

The bartender moved from patron to patron, refilling glasses and preparing drinks. Nero waited patiently. There were many crowding the bar and only the one bartender. But after a while he began to suspect he was being ignored. The bartender seemed oblivious to any attempts Nero made to get his attention. When the man started serving others who had only just arrived Nero spoke up.

"What am I, the invisible man?" he shouted out loud enough to be heard over the music.

The bartender shot Nero a sneer, "Locals get served first. House policy. If you don't like waiting, Atlesian, then you can always go home."

"House policy?" repeated Nero.

"That's right."

"So, there is nothing you can do?"

"Nothing," confirmed the bartender.

"Your hands are tied in the matter."

"They are."

Nero snatched the man by the neck and dragged him half over the bar countertop, "Would you rather they be broken, your hands?"

They were so close Nero need only whisper. The blood drained from the bartender's face. Fear filled his dilated eyes.

"Please sir, I was just-"

"Just what?" Nero squeezed the man's throat causing his words to come out as hoarse croaks, "Oh, can't remember? Don't worry, I'll tell you. It's called discrimination. I would've thought Refuge learned its lesson by now on that account. How about you? Have you learned?"

The bartender pawed at Nero's iron grip to no avail. Veins bulged from the man's neck. He nodded vigorously, but Nero did not relent. His grip, if anything, tightened. Water swelled in the man's eyes. He flailed against the countertop like a fish out of water. His lips shriveled, taking on a slightly purplish hue. Nero's Scroll vibrated in his pocket, but he ignored it.

A hand seized him by the forearm, "That's enough. Kill him and there will be no one left to serve drinks."

"He wasn't doing that to begin with," replied Nero.

"I reckon he will now. Just let him go."

Nero glanced at the newcomer out of the corner of his eye. She wore dress shirt and slacks, the former of which was slightly transparent due to the sweat which clung to her skin. Her grip on his forearm tightened hard enough to entice Nero's curiosity. He released the bartender who stumbled back coughing and rubbing his neck.

In return, the strange beautiful woman relinquished her own grip and took a seat next to Nero at the bar.

"When you're through," she said, addressing the bartender, "We need drinks."

"What would you like?" he wheezed.

"Rum. The good stuff if you please."

The bartender glared at Nero before hobbling off to fetch the rum from the shelves lining the wall. He set the bottle of spiced rum before them as well as two shot glasses. One look from the newcomer and he set off tending to the other patrons. Though he did so with a distinct lack of fanfare as compared to before. His hands trembled slightly, causing the glasses to clink against one another in a stuttered racket.

Nero studied the woman at his side with great interest. She had shoulder length straw blonde hair and dull blue eyes. There was something familiar about her. Didn't take long for Nero to realize. The rather large saxophone slung over her back kind of gave it away.

"You were the one on stage when I first came in."

"I was," the young woman poured Nero a shot of rum before drinking directly from the bottle.

Nero chuckled, "And here I thought it was going to be a wasted night."

"Might still be, depending on what's brought you down here. You're a long way from home, Atlesian."

"I know. It feels great."

"Most of your ilk who come to Refuge stick to the Administration District. But you like it here, do you?"

"Well, I was skeptical at first," Nero looked out at the raving dancefloor, "But I have to admit, you guys sure know how to party."

"Its what the Flower District is known for."

Nero shook his head, "Not just the Flower District. All of Refuge upon a time fed off the same greed and lust I see before me now. It pumps through their veins, making them ravenous. But no matter how much they consume they're still starving deep down."

"Hmpf," she took another swig of rum, "That's almost funny coming from you. Atlas…The Schnee Dust Company…Our appetites will never compare. You lot would swallow the world if you could."

"Maybe we will. But we won't do it through illegal means."

She scoffed, "It's not hard to adhere to the laws you yourselves create."

"And what of the laws of nature? Morality? These things I thought were universal. Yet Refuge violated every single code. Your city profited off the backs of a slave quarry for generations. That's a fact. The whole world knows it."

"And we're paying for it."

"Some more than others though, right?" Nero sipped his rum. The spicy liquor burned his throat, yet she drank it as if it were water.

"Those responsible are being punished."

"So I've heard," said Nero after clearing his throat, "The overseer of the aforementioned Quarry, dead and gone. Beaten to death by his cellmates, was it? Then there's Marcus Vulcan, stripped of business and reputation. By the time his trial comes to an end his own daughter will be a stranger to him. Finally, the leader of the conspiracy, former Councilmen Moss. They had to power wash him off the Citadel sidewalk. Yet your boss gets away without a scratch. Why is that, I wonder?"

She set down the now empty bottle of rum, "I don't have a boss."

"Sure you do. Every musician in the Flower District works for him in one capacity or another. Whether they know it or not. But things aren't like they were before. Your boss sacrificed his ambiguity to save his district. Now the courts and their lawyers may not have branded him guilty, but that does not make him innocent."

"Careful what you say next," she warned, allowing a hint of anger to reach her voice.

"I'm only saying the inevitable truth. There's a reckoning for everyone," Nero smiled at her, "Even Roland Teal."

Her fist was a blur, punching Nero right underneath his jaw and sending him flying off his stool. He crashed onto the ground and rolled to the edge of the dancefloor. Nero laid there, staring up at the ceiling in a daze. The lights shined down from above in strobes of red and pink. He laughed despite himself, and slowly began to rise.

From the bar she shouted down to him, "Stay down."

The Scroll vibrated continuously in Nero's pocket, but he couldn't hear it. The music drowned out the world. Its rapid pace matched his beating heart.

"Not a wasted night after all!"

Nero stood up but didn't remain on his two feet for long. In that instant she swung her large saxophone like a club, batting him away. Nero spun in the air, soaring over the packed dancefloor. He crashed into the luminescent panel hanging above the stage, embedding himself like a bullet. The lights spasmed and sparks spritzed from the hole he made. The band on stage stuttered to a stop. But not all the music ceased. The electric beat still pulsed from the speakers.

The confused party goes cleared a path for the woman. She walked onto the dancefloor saxophone in hand, gripping it by the neck with the bell facing forward. Grinning, Nero pushed himself out of the hole. He leapt from the wall panel, landing directly in the center of the dancefloor. The ravers backed away, forming a spectator's circle around Nero and the saxophone woman. They were too delirious to be scared.

The woman aimed the bell of her saxophone towards Nero. Fire escaped from its open keys like a revving engine. The instrument glowed red-hot, emitting smoke. With a pinch she closed shut all the keys and a torrent of crimson flame spewed forth from the bell.

Nero closed both hands into a tight fist, activating his gauntlets. The sheets of intricate folding metal fanned out from the bracers, creating two large round shields. Each had a sharp gap above the fist like a pincer. He held them both up just in time to block the dragon's breath. Fire formed a tunnel around him. Its heat singed his sides. Nero charged forth, barreling through the fire. Upon reaching the woman he bashed both shields outwards, knocking the saxophone to the side.

Flames spat out across the dancefloor, causing the crowd to shriek and leap back. Seeing this, the woman released her keys and the flames sputtered to an end. Nero followed through with his disrupt by bringing both shields forward into a bite. Instead of dodging backwards as expected she lunged, slipping past his shields and headbutting Nero in the nose. Displaying incredible flexibility, she brought her leg up and booted him in the chest. Nero slid back across the dancefloor.

With distance reestablished the flames sprung forth once again. Nero dodged to the side, purposefully running past the spectating crowd. Just as he suspected, the woman ceased her flames giving Nero the opportunity he was hoping for. He launched towards her with a force powerful enough to splinter the dancefloor.

Both shields sizzled orange. He struck with one after another. His stance wide like a scorpion. She dodged or parried with her saxophone. The heavy blows behind Nero's attacks sent her stumbling with every contact. In close quarters with so many civilians around she was outmatched. Nero pressed his advantage, pushing her back towards the bar.

To her credit, she did not panic. Most under his barrage flailed or tried some desperate move which often guaranteed their defeat. But she kept up her defense as best she could, waiting instead for him to make a mistake. While she might not have been wearing thin her instrument certainly couldn't say the same. Her saxophone flamethrower was an unorthodox weapon to say the least. While powerful at a distance it did not possess the durability to handle intense close quarters combat. With every strike it dented.

When the time was right, and her back was against the wall, Nero struck. He aimed both pincers of his shields directly at the center of the instrument. The simultaneous attack severed the saxophone in two. The resulting explosion from the ruptured Dust consumed them both in smoke. While Nero's aura remained resolute, hers flickered and dissipated. She faltered and in that split-second Nero dealt the finishing blow. He swept both shields outward in an arc, but instead of clipping her in the throat as intended they hit nothing but air.

The music was cut off in an instant. The neon pink glow of the club was replaced with the sun's radiance. Nero whirled around, temporarily blinded. When his eyes adjusted he found himself no longer in Wonderland, but an upscale office with large panel windows looking out over the Atlas Academy. A gorgeous sight. One which filled Nero with rage.

He threw back his head and roared, "Niveus!"

* * *

The saxophone woman sagged against the wall, eyes wide with shock. She stared up at the woman now standing before her with a hanging jaw.

Niveus held out a helping hand to the woman, "My apologies for my brother's behavior. I instructed him to cease hostilities, but he refused to answer my call."

Wonderland had gone silent at her unexpected appearance. The crowd of onlookers went still. Even the band, which had picked up at the start of the fight, slowed to a halt. The saxophone woman did not take the offered hand of help. She too gawked at the stranger like all the rest.

The silence following her arrival was broken by a light applause. Niveus turned her attention towards the man clapping behind the bar. He was dressed just like the bartender from before only he was older and wore glossy white gloves.

"That's quite the trick," he said, "Consider me thoroughly impressed."

The white gloves, receding hairline, and bartender's outfit checked all three boxes of identification.

"You're Roland Teal."

"That I am."

Niveus strode towards him, "I need to talk to you."

Roland Teal surveyed the scorched and battered club, "All you needed to do was ask."

"I apologized already for my brother's behavior. But you should know, it was the woman who struck first."

"How do you know that?" asked Teal with a glimmer in his eye, "You weren't even here."

"I saw through my brother's eyes."

"Oh. Oh, I see," he turned towards the bulk of security who had been drawn in by the commotion, "The club is closed," he announced, "See these people out."

The bouncers obeyed and went to work escorting the bewildered party goers out of Wonderland. The crowd dispersed and drained from the club with some haste. The woman Nero fought recovered from her shock and stood to attention behind Niveus. Though she was wounded from the explosion and most likely in great pain she gave no sign of distress other than a slight grimace. Teal waited for most of the people to be gone before addressing her.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She cleared her throat, "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Go home, Melody. See to your wounds. We'll speak more about this later."

Melody eyed Niveus up and down before limping away. With her gone, Niveus and Teal stood alone in Wonderland with the exception of a few bent backed janitors putting out the fires which still burned.

Teal ushered her to take a seat, "Drink?"

"No thank you. Its still morning where I came from," her words didn't seem to surprise him, "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. After that display there is only one person you can be."

"Then you know why I am here."

He sighed, "Afraid so."

"My brother, Sanguine Stroud, where is he?"

"Like I told your father, I don't know."

"Yes, but my father doesn't believe you. Nothing personal. It's just with everything that's been revealed about Refuge its hard to trust anyone who calls this city home. You understand."

"So, he sends the twins to investigate. I heard you two shared a special connection. Entwined souls and such…I never quite believed the rumors I heard but seeing your brother vanish into thin air and you pop into his place. A miracle like that murders any doubt. Where is he now, if you don't mind me asking?"

Niveus closed her eyes and glimpsed through her brother's momentarily, "He is currently destroying my office back in Atlas."

"Fascinating. What's stopping him from switching places with you and renewing his battle?"

"Swapping places is my semblance, not his."

"Yet you can both see through each other's eyes? Hear what the other hears? What the other smells or even feels?"

"I am not hear to discuss my abilities," said Niveus in a stern tone, "Sanguine Stroud, Mr. Teal. Tell me what you know."

"Or else what? Are you going to attack me full of rage and fury like your brother?"

"No. I will take away the one thing you love. The Flower District."

Roland Teal snickered, "Don't make threats you can't keep."

"I am not my brother, Mr. Teal. I don't settle disputes by starting bar brawls. If you screw with me now I will rip the Flower District from your hands."

He leaned across the countertop, "How will you do that?" he asked, more curious than intimidated.

"When my brother came in he saw two people going at it in your hallway. I imagine that breaks some health code violations not to mention several laws. Won't be hard to find similar blemishes in every one of your establishments. Especially in a grotesque city like this. I'll have your businesses shut down. Maybe not forever, but long enough for the Flower District to wilt."

The smile disappeared from Teal's face, "You're smart, Ms. Stroud. But you overstep. We are not in Atlas. You walk out of this club with that intention and I guarantee you won't make it back to the Administration District. Sure, you can switch places with your brother, but that would be as good as sacrificing him."

Niveus' blood ran cold. She glanced around the room half expecting to find more like Melody lying in wait, but there was no one. They were alone. Even the janitors had gone. Yet she knew it in her bones that his threat was not empty.

"Now," said Teal, regaining his friendly composure, "back to the matter at hand. Sanguine Stroud. My records show a young man by that name did spend some time here some years ago. He signed up to become a recruit with the Rangers stationed outside the city. However, he disappeared before his training here in Refuge ended. I already reached out to Captain Ashur of the Rangers. According to him, Sanguine Stroud is dead. That's all I know. You can ask Ashur himself if you like. He is leading a small settlement a couple week's travel from here. I can mark it on your map."

"That's all you were told?"

"Correct."

"But not all you know," she met his eye, "A clever man like you must have some ideas."

"I have a theory. Nothing more. Your father, wasn't much interested in what I think I know."

"I am," stated Niveus, "Tell me what you think."

"I've heard mention of Sanguine Stroud from my friends in the north. Same as I heard tale of you. They say his skill in combat was unrivaled. Is this true?"

"It is."

"Then there is a possibility. I think what Captain Ashur told me is true. Sanguine Stroud is dead. The circumstances of his death are unknown to me. However, there is another you can ask much closer than Captain Ashur. A man by the name of Coll. Like myself, he is a simple bartender. He lives in the Mud District right here in Refuge. I advise you to seek him out. If he doesn't know about your brother, then Captain Ashur is your last resort."

"Why would a bartender in the Mud District know about Sanguine?"

"If my theory is correct your brother spent time there. You know where to find the Mud District?"

"I do," confirmed Niveus.

"You've done your research then."

"As have you."

He smiled, "Its been a pleasure speaking with you, Ms. Stroud. I do hope our paths cross again. Should you require anything else during your stay here in Refuge, please come see me."

Niveus stood to leave, "I appreciate the offer. Though I doubt I will take you up on it."

"Ms. Stroud, before you go, I'd like to apologize for what I said earlier. I didn't mean to threaten you. This is a city of hot tempers as your twin has proven. The strain of keeping it all together has put me in a sour mood."

"No harm done, Mr. Teal."

He smiled in relief, "I'm glad to hear it."

Niveus hastened her exit from Wonderland, leaving Roland Teal behind. After reaching the street it took her several moments to locate the mountainous Spine which formed the backbone of the city. Upon spotting it on the distant horizon she made her way towards it knowing the Mud District rested in its shadow.

Leaving the Flower District, Niveus contemplated her conversation with Roland Teal. She had been a fool to challenge him on his home turf. Something he let her know like an instructor might teach an unruly student who had stepped out of line. Her father underestimated the man. He was a shrewd operator. Well-connected and informed with much more behind him than he let on. If he was half as dangerous as Niveus feared, then he could prove a detrimental enemy or a powerful friend.

The thought of her father allying himself with a man like Roland Teal made Niveus crack a smile. Like Nero, her father valued brute strength above all. The idea of subterfuge was foreign to them both. Even worse, they viewed it as dishonorable. She however, did not share their weakness.

Beyond the bright lights and music of the Flower District rested the ruin that was the Craft District. Not long ago the clanging of hammers and cranking of gears persisted through the night. But now, the coal coated streets were as silent as the grave. The Vulcan Industries factory which once represented the beating mechanical heart of the Craft District stood still. Abandoned. Though chained shut the factory's front gates were left ajar, allowing a glimpse inside. The once bustling factory floor was empty and dark. A hollow shell.

There was not a soul in sight. The only signs of life were the small hearths smoldering in a few broken windows. Niveus wondered if those huddling within truly lived here or were simply squatting. In truth, there wasn't much to live in. The 'earthquake', as the locals liked to call it, devasted the Craft District. Its shops were collapsed. The rooves caved in. Though the Trade District sustained worse damage it has since been repaired to a decent extend. All attempts at restoring the Craft District had ceased. When Marcus Vulcan was summoned to face trial at the Capital he took the furnace with him. That fiery heat which set the people to task. Without him there was no workforce left with the will to repair the Craft District.

A pitiful end for a once renowned industry. Though Niveus knew its downfall benefited her home kingdom of Atlas a great deal. The Schnee Dust Company flew in like the hungry vulture that it is and tore into Refuge's flanks. It took an army of lawyers and a small fortune, but they somehow laid claim to the famed Dust Quarry. While Refuge struggled to rebuild itself, the Quarry was up and running within a matter of weeks after the 'earthquake'. Its slaves were replaced with Schnee Dust Company miners. A reform so small it could hardly be said to be an improvement.

Glancing over the peak of the Spine, Niveus could make out the tumultuous skyline she heard so much about. Dust had ravaged the very air lingering above the Quarry, staining its clouds in a mix of hues. From far away it proved a beautiful sight despite being a horrid affront on nature.

Past the Craft District was a stretch of no man's land. A border separating the Craft from the Mud and belonging to neither. Warehouses split the area in even rows, creating a gigantic storage unit for the city. Though it saw little use these days. The place was destroyed in the chaos and no one had yet to see fit to make any repairs considering it was just a bunch of empty warehouses.

Niveus made her way through the rubble. Entire streets were simply gone. The wreckage started from here and followed a crooked path, carving its way into Refuge. Standing in the midst of the destruction Niveus knew it was caused by no earthquake. The damage was too precise. Nature wouldn't have been so selective in its wrath. Perhaps Nero was on to something back at the World Theatre.

Reaching the end of the Buffer, Niveus arrived at the Mud District. Before she even set foot into the mud, the click of a gun drew her to a halt.

"Don't move," growled a voice from the shadows.

Holding her hands up, Niveus glanced in the direction the voice came from. Stepping forward, the figure came into focus. Just a kid. Barely sixteen by the look of him. Yet the rifle in his hands did not waver.

The kid came to a stop a few paces away, "Who are you?"

"How is that any concern of yours? If you mean to rob someone, you needn't know their name."

"I'm no thief."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm a patrolman, that's all. I keep the Mud District safe."

"Safe from who?"

"Outsiders like you," he raised the gun to her head, "Now, I ask again. Who are you?"

"My name is Niveus."

"What are you doing here, Niveus?"

"I mean the Mud District no harm. I've come seeking a man named Coll. I was told he might have some answers for me."

He lowered the gun slightly at the mention of Coll's name, "You're an Atlesian. Don't think I don't recognize your colors. I ain't stupid. What the fuck does an Atlesian want from Coll?"

Niveus lowered her arms to her sides, "I'm looking for my brother. I'm not leaving until I speak with Coll. So, you can either shoot me or point me in the right direction."

"You don't think I'll do it? I've killed people before."

The truth of that statement hit Niveus like a gut punch. She hid her shock behind a blank expression.

"You can pull that trigger if you want. But what happens next is on you. I don't want to fight you. I just want to know what happened to my brother. Coll is my last hope. Please…"

The kid grit his teeth and gripped tight his rifle. He searched her eyes as if hoping to read her thoughts. The barrel of the gun trembled within reach. Niveus knew she could snatch it away. It would be almost too easy. She could dispatch of him in a flash and be on her merry way. The desire to do so burned like an itch. With every second that passed the sensation festered. But that was Nero's way. Reckless and brash. She needed to be better. For both their sakes.

With an exasperated huff, he lowered his gun.

The itch faded and Niveus sighed in relief, "Thank you."

"You're lucky," said the kid, "Coll is a night owl. I'll take you too him. You can ask your questions and then I'll escort you out."

"Fair enough."

The disgruntled youth led the way. None of the streets had markers of any kind and the buildings all looked the same, but he seemed to know where he was going. The Mud District reminded Niveus of some farming settlements she'd seen on the countryside. Rural and poor, unbefitting a district in a city such as Refuge. The two appeared entirely separate, which may very well have been the point of that string of warehouses. It even smelled different. Refuge reeked of shit whereas the Mud District smelled of smoke.

Despite their differences, the Mud District had one similarity it shared with the rest of Refuge. They were both scarred. Whole city blocks were charred black. The remains left alone, deemed unfit for repair. Their ruin was of an entirely different nature and far older than the 'earthquake' from what Niveus could tell. While vastly different the wounds appeared, she had a suspicion that they were not entirely unrelated.

The rumors about what exactly had happened in Refuge circulated all over Remnant. From Menagerie to Atlas. After witnessing all she'd seen so far Niveus began putting the pieces together. Bit by bit.

The kid kept glancing at her from over his shoulder. His finger never moved far from the trigger. He brought her to the one building with a flat roof. It was two-story's tall and mainly constructed of wood like everything else in this district.

"Wait here," he ordered before slipping inside. He returned some minutes later and waved her within.

Candlelight illuminated the interior of the squalid tavern. The many tables and chairs were coated in a layer of dust. The kid went to the fireplace and utilizing a flint, lit a fire in the hearth. The flames breathed some life into the tavern. The squeak of wood drew Niveus' attention to the stairs where an old man with a haggard face descended the steps. He rubbed at his eyes, clearly just awoken.

"I swear, Alfie, this better be good."

"I caught her sneaking through the Buffer. She asked for you by name."

"You still doing those damned patrols?" asked Coll, aghast.

"It's my job."

"No, it is not."

"Someone has to keep us safe."

"We _are_ safe, boy."

Alfie scoffed, "If it helps you sleep better at night."

"And what of your father? Think he gets much sleep knowing you're out there?"

Niveus cleared her throat, "Excuse me, are you Coll?"

The bitter old man gave her a cursive glance, "Asked for me by name did you? I don't know you."

"Roland Teal referred me. Said you might help."

"Teal, huh? Better get a drink then. Scram Alfie. I don't need a babysitter."

"Its not you I'm worried about," said the boy.

"Oh piss off, will you?"

Turning red, Alfie stomped towards the door.

Coll shouted after him, "And tell Jules I want a word with him…These damn patrols have gone on long enough."

That last part the man whispered to himself. In the moments following Alfie's exit the man seemed lost, as if he'd forgotten why he'd gotten out of bed in the first place. Then he set eyes of Niveus.

"Right…Take a seat by the fire. I'll be with you in a second."

Niveus did as instructed and pulled up a chair beside the fireplace. Before long Coll joined her with a bottle in his hands. He gnawed on the cork, prying it open with his teeth before spitting it out onto the floor. She waited patiently as he took a big swig and sighed.

"So, what in the world do I know that Roland Teal doesn't?"

"I'm hoping you can shed some light. I'm looking for my brother, Sanguine Stroud. Mr. Teal told me you might know what happened to him."

Coll chewed on her words for several long moments. His eyes dimmed with solemn recognition.

"I've heard that name," he admitted, "Just once. Many years ago. When he first rented a room here."

Niveus struggled to control her shock, "You knew you my brother?"

"Lean fellow? With dark hair tinged red?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"Well when I knew him, he went by the name Buckets."

"Buckets?" she repeated, somewhat dumbstruck.

"It was just a stupid nickname that stuck. I can't rightly say I knew Sanguine Stroud. But I knew Buckets."

Niveus' heart thumped in her chest. After all this time she had little hope they'd ever learn what had become of her oldest brother. Her father spent thousands on private investigators, the best Atlas had to offer, but it was all in vain. Yet somehow this tavernkeeper living in the muck knew her brother. Niveus could barely contain her excitement.

"Tell me about him," said Niveus like a child eager for a bedtime story.

Coll rubbed at his tired eyes, "He was my only customer for many years. As decent of a man as I've ever known. His smile was infectious. No matter the situation he'd grin through it all. His unyielding optimism was a welcome relief to some. And an annoyance to others. But in time, they too came around. He had that effect. Buckets inspired the best in people."

"How did he get that ridiculous name?"

Capping his thumb over the bottle, Coll splashed a bit of his drink into the fireplace. The flames brightened and surged before dwindling back to a slow crackle.

"You're here," he said, "so I assume you've seen the damage."

Niveus nodded to herself, "Fire."

"A fucking big one at that. Would've consumed the whole district if it weren't for him. He came rushing to our aid when no one else would. No one knew him. He was a stranger to us, lugging forth a dozen buckets of water. And so, he was named. All that happened say, six years ago? Or was it seven? I can't rightly remember."

Niveus soaked up his words like a sponge. She said nothing for a time as she let his story sink in. During this moment of pause Coll inspected Niveus, doubt furrowing his brow.

"You're his sister?" he asked with an inquisitive tone.

"I am."

"Forgive me for saying this, but you don't look much like him."

"We had different mothers," admitted Niveus.

"Oh, I see. A half-sister then."

"Still siblings."

"I'm not arguing that," Coll sunk into his chair. He seemed to age the more he talked. Or perhaps she was just seeing him more clearly. The firelight exposed every wrinkle with deepened shadows.

"What happened to him?"

Coll stared into the flames, "Not long ago, the Mud District went about a little revolution."

"I am aware."

"But do you know why?" her silence confirmed his suspicions and he proceeded, "Thought so. Not many outside the Mud District know. It was revealed to us that the fire was no accident, but a bomb set in place by the former Councilor Moss. He meant to smoke us out. Drive us from our homes. Why? Who the fuck knows. We weren't concerned with the details. Once we learned the truth we went to work. The whole Mud District. Rallied under one banner."

The man gripped the bottle so tight she could see the whites of his knuckles, "In that conflict, Buckets was killed."

Niveus knew he was dead, but hearing Coll confirm it still drove a stake through her heart. Perhaps she clung to some notion that he might still be alive. A pathetic hope so small she didn't even realize it existed within her.

"Killed you say…Who by?"

"Oren Glass."

Niveus knew the name. It had become infamous since his debut at the Vytal Festival many years ago where he killed his opponent in what was meant to be an exhibition match. Though expelled and denied the official privileges of a Huntsmen, his mercenary work earned him a new title.

"The Crimson Huntsman…"

"That's the one," confirmed Coll, "Moss must've hired him as muscle after we drove the City Guard from the Buffer. He attacked us all by himself, killing six of our people. The strongest amongst us couldn't stop him. But Buckets could. The man many considered meek displayed a skill unlike anything I'd ever seen. He pushed that bastard back and then some."

"So, how did he lose?"

Coll squirmed in his seat, "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Tell me!"

"Right before delivering the finishing blow, he hesitated. In that split second, Oren Glass stabbed him in the back with a piece of broken blade. It just flew on its own. Whish. And that was it," Coll's gaze drifted, "Semblance I was told. People tried explaining it to me several times, but it just doesn't make sense. Nothing about that day will ever make sense."

Tears ran down her cheeks. Niveus went to wipe them only to realize they weren't her own, but Nero's. Her face was dry and her eyes cold, while her brother wept. She could see him huddled in the corner of her office, hands clenched into fists. It was only a matter of seconds before his grief turned to rage. Those fists hammered into the floor, punching craters. His anguish roared so loud Niveus forcibly severed their connection.

"Where is he now?" she asked, shaken by Nero's emotion.

"Kiera buried him with the others who died that day. Near the well. I can take you if you wish."

"No, that's not necessary. Who is Kiera?"

"She was your brother's partner in every sense of the word. Their love for one another was a rare thing to find in this world…If fate were a person I'd spit in their eyes for separating those two."

"Is she here?"

"Kiera? No, I'm sorry. She left not long after. I think she saw him wherever she went. Staying in Refuge would've killed her."

"And Oren Glass?"

"Dead," said Coll with a satisfied grin, "Runt Braun snapped his neck clean around."

"Then I am robbed of my vengeance."

"Be heartened then that justice was served."

"Justice…" Niveus mused on the word, "I suppose that's something. Sanguine would've valued it over revenge."

Coll drained his bottle, "I told you my story. Would you indulge me with yours? I knew Buckets, but tell me, what was Sanguine Stroud like? Were you close?"

"No," said Niveus, surprising herself with her own brittle tone, "not really. Sanguine was several years older and my father prohibited him from spending much time with us."

"Why would a father purposely separate his own children?"

"He didn't want our trainings to conflict. My father was obsessed with building the perfect super soldier regimen. He thought to revolutionize Atlas Academy and their teachings. To him, we were test subjects and Sanguine was his favorite. Strong, efficient, and emotionless. Everything a good soldier needed to be."

Niveus made sure Nero was no longer listening in before continuing, "My twin, Nero, he idolized Sanguine for his skill. Like our father he only saw the warrior, but there was much more to him than that. There was a gentleness to Sanguine. An unmistakable cushion behind his eyes. In our brief interactions I only glimpsed it once. Took years for me to realize what it was…I suspect the only reason he dedicated himself to my father's discipline was to prevent the same from having to be repeated on Nero or I."

Coll went still as he listened, "What happened? Went sent him so far south?"

"My father wanted to show off the fruits of his teachings. He put Sanguine on display. Had him fight the Academy's top student, Sanguine's own friend, just to prove the benefits of his training. Sanguine won of course, but the toll it took on his mind…" Niveus shuddered upon recalling her brother's face that day, "Seeing what he did to his own friend snapped something within him. That night, he left. Father tried to stop him, but he built the perfect warrior. Nothing could stand in his way for long. Sanguine laid waste to our household guard and fled the city. When word of what happened got out the next day, my father's training program was denied. I suppose Sanguine would've been happy with that result, for father didn't try teaching Nero or I. Not the way he taught Sanguine."

For a time, neither one of them said anything. They sat in silence, listening to the fireplace crackle and snap. The flames were dwindling. Its kindling turned to ash and smoke, rising up the stone chimney. Coll grabbed a log from the nearby pile and tossed it into the fire.

"Some nights he would stay up with me. He sat right where you're sitting now. We'd drink and exchange stories. Buckets would gush over Kiera while I bored him with tales from my dull childhood. He listened all the same," Coll inspected his bottle as if it were some great piece of art, "Those nights we'd finish off several bottles just like this, together. And you know what? Your brother was a lightweight. By the time we started the second bottle he was already drunk out of his mind. When it got to that point the two of us would babble back and forth about nothing like a couple of mind addled cronies."

Imagining the scene Coll described brought about a strange sensation to Niveus' face. Her lips curled into a smile. The old man caught this and let out a grunt.

"Aha, now I see the resemblance."

Niveus fell back into her chair, struck dumb by his words. The old man had no idea the weight they carried. She reached up and gently touched her lips, just to make sure it was real and not Nero's. It was a strained smile, which wrinkled her otherwise smooth face, but it was her own and she treasured it.

* * *

She stayed up with Coll, like Sanguine once did. Eventually the old man's eyes, heavy as they were, closed shut. Niveus wrapped her coat around him like a blanket before leaving the tavern.

The morning sun rose in the distance, basking Refuge in a warm glow. Niveus made her way through the Mud District, searching. Near the well, between two rows of scorched ruins, she found the cemetery. The only thing to mark Sanguine's grave was a simple wooden post protruding from the mud. It read, _Buckets – A Hero_. Two other graves flanked her brother. To the left rested Naz, a caring son. To his right laid Sally Flood, a loving wife and mother.

Niveus stood over Sanguine's grave for some time. She struggled to come up with words. Something, anything to say. Nothing came to her. At the back of her mind, Nero's presence pushed itself forward. He looked out through her eyes upon the squalid grave. His face was dry with tears. The ache of his bruised knuckles seeped into Niveus' flesh. The slight pain was a comfort. It anchored her to the ground.

From behind came the squish of footsteps in the mud. The boy, Alfie, joined at her side his gaze downcast.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I wouldn't have treated you the way I did if I knew you were Buckets' sister."

"So that was you listening."

Alfie shuffled his feet, "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. Just worried was all."

"You knew him?" asked Niveus, "You knew my brother?"

"Everyone did. He gave us his all even when we didn't deserve it."

"All these graves…Did they all die in the conflict?"

"Most of them," Alfie choked on his words, "The rest were lost to the fire."

His grief was a rancid thing. He breathed it with ease, plaguing the air in this place. The Mud District's tortured history was most prominent where they stood, amidst the charred ruins. Here, the anguish of hundreds of souls was palpable even to those as closed off as Niveus. She sighed and sat down in the mud, uncaring how it stained her uniform.

"You lost someone."

Alfie knelt and placed a hand on Sally Flood's marker, "My mother."

"Tell me about her. Tell me about them all."

Alfie gave her a confused look, "Why?"

"I've heard all about how my brother died," said Niveus, "Now, I want to know how he lived and who he gave his life for."

It took a moment, but the boy nodded to himself. With Nero listening on, he explained to the twins the legacy of the man named Buckets.


	6. Chapter 06

In the twilight hours of night when everyone else retired to their homes Cara emerged from her own. She glided through the streets like a wisp. Those lingering few who passed her by turned their gazes to the dirt. Blinds and shutters were closed in her wake. Cara walked her usual route, stopping first at the mill where she collected a few spare logs of firewood. Then to the trickling stream just outside the village where the water flowed clear as crystal. The moon's shine bounced off the stream's surface allowing enough light for one to glimpse their own distorted reflection.

Catching sight of her mirrored image in the steam gave Cara pause. She stared for just a moment before plunging her hands into the cool water, shattering the reflection.

After filling several canteens, Cara made her way to the last stop at the butcher shop. Yegor left her order waiting for her on the windowsill just as she requested. Cara placed the bundle of packed meat into the wicker basket she carried on her back where it rested on top of the canteens and logs.

Done with her errands, Cara continued her way home passing the Honeydrip Inn where the disgruntled neigh of a horse drew her to a halt. A gang of hushed voices tried to soothe the beast to no avail. Its whinnying only grew louder. Cara strode towards the noise, rounding the corner of the Honeydrip. There in the recesses of the Inn's stables she made out a handful of silhouettes in the dark. Even in the dim moonlight she could recognize the gang. Local boys she once called friends when she was but a child. Of the five, three of them struggled with the horse. They tugged at its reins, but the mount refused to move. No matter how aggressive their yanking, the horse merely brayed its annoyance. The other two went through the pockets of a stranger lying face first in the mud. He was either dead or unconscious. Cara could not tell.

"Get that beast moving," ordered one of the men pilfering the stranger's pockets.

"We can't. The damned horse won't budge."

"Give it a whippin', see if that won't change its mind."

Cara stood in the stable entrance, watching the proceedings in silence. It took several moments before any of them noticed her. When the first one did, he leaped to his feet. His sudden jump caught the rest of their attention. They froze in place like children caught stealing from the cookie jar. Dion stepped forward to speak for them as he so often did whenever they were busted in their mischief. He had always been the de facto leader of the group ever since they were kids.

"Wasn't us," he said, "The guy rode into town half dead. Looks like the Grimm got him."

"Got him good," agreed one of the others.

"And when were you planning on bringing him to me?" asked Cara in an even tone.

"We were gonna, but the damn horse wouldn't move."

His lies were as clear to Cara as the stream water.

"Leave," she said, "I'll take it from here."

None were at all happy to give up their prize. They glared their defiance, for how short it lasted. One by one they gave in, deeming the stranger not worth the effort. Dion held his glare longer than any of the others, but he too averted his gaze.

"Come on boys," huffed Dion, "Let's go."

He exited the stables, making sure to not get within arm's length when he passed Cara. The rest of them reluctantly followed their friend, heading back into the Honeydrip. The merry tavern music leaked out into the night for just a moment before the doors slammed shut behind Dion and his gang.

Cara knelt next to the stranger lying in the muck. She carefully flipped him onto his back and scraped mud from his face. A pale horseshoe-shaped scar surrounded his left eye from brow to cheekbone. The strawberry blonde sheen of his hair was caked with filth. His clothes were well worn and torn to bloody tatters around his chest. Cara held a hand over his mouth and felt his faint breath warm against her palm. Alive, but barely by the look of him.

Heavy snoring drew Cara around. The horse's head drooped, and its eyes were closed. Already sleep took the beast into its warm embrace.

* * *

It waited for the fire to smolder to a dim glow before making a move. The creature of Grimm emerged from the dark, silent as a mouse. It appeared no larger than a turkey with two hind legs and no arms. Black feathers masked its form with nocturnal camouflage, but as it crept closer the beast's horrific details became clearer.

Long razor-sharp talons protruded from several malformed toes. Its single vermillion eye, which took up most of its head, did not break contact with its prey. Blackened lips peeled back to reveal rows of jagged teeth. Its jaw unhinged much wider than expected, like that of a snake. The second it came within ten feet it pounced on Clementine's bedroll, biting down where his throat would've been. Instead it enclosed its jaws around a dummy of stuffed baggage.

With the trap sprung, Clementine leaped out from his hiding place behind the trees. He stabbed at the creature of Grimm with his dagger, hoping to end it all in one blow, but the monster dodged out of the way. It darted into the brush, disappearing into the darkness. Clementine retreated to the campfire and hunkered down ready for the next attack, but it never came.

The Grimm did not flee. It circled the camp just on the edge of the firelight. It hardly made a sound, but Clementine could just make out the Grimm's cycloptic gaze glaring at him in the dark. Unlike most other Grimm Clementine had encountered, this one did not rush for blood. It stalked him with the patience of a true hunter.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes to hours. Sweat dripped from Clementine's brow. His muscles were taut like tightly bound ropes. He could not lower his guard not even for a moment for he knew that's when it would strike again. Their ambush became a battle of endurance. A contest measured by the drooping moon.

With the sunrise the creature of Grimm would lose the advantage of dark, but Clementine didn't have the luxury of time on his side. Already the fire was dwindling. The radius of protective light grew smaller by the second, enclosing around him. It would fade before the night was over unless he fed it more kindling. But to do so meant dropping his guard.

Clementine knew he had to do just that in order to bait the Grimm out. Else he'd risk fighting in total darkness.

With what remaining light he had Clementine could spot Vern chewing some grass on the outskirts of camp. The horse watched the encounter unfold with flat eyes. Not a shred of sympathy for its rider's current predicament.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" asked Clementine without taking his eyes off the darkness.

Vern offered no response.

"Yeah…I thought so."

Clementine dove towards the stack of firewood near his bedroll, reaching instead for his walking staff which leaned against the logs. The Grimm slammed into Clementine's shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He fumbled but managed to get a hold of the staff, bringing it up in time to intercept the Grimm's bite. Gnashing teeth halted inches from his neck. The creature chomped on the staff like a chew toy, sawing into the wood. Pungent drool dripped from its maw onto Clementine's face.

Bone talons scraped against Clementine's aura shield, depleting it at an alarming rate. He struggled to throw the monster off, but it dug its talons into his skin. Clementine screamed as searing pain lanced its way through his body. It clawed at his chest as if attempting to burrow through him. The walking stick cracked and splintered. With a low growl the Grimm bit down, snapping the staff in half.

Clementine punched the creature in the side of the head before it could bear down on him, sending it flying. The miniature Grimm tumbled directly into the campfire with an eruption of fiery embers. Its resulting shriek pierced the night. Clementine righted himself as best he could. Blood soaked through his shirt. He tried to stand but his legs buckled under his weight.

The Grimm rolled in the dirt, hissing all the while. Several of its feathers caught fire and refused to go out. Maddened with fury, the creature charged. Clementine lunged to meet it, burying the full length of the broken staff deep into its eye. It squealed and whirled away, hobbling several feet before collapsing to the ground. With dimming vision, Clementine watched the Grimm crumple into smoke as if disintegrated by the flames.

He could not recall how he made it into the saddle, but the next thing he knew he was back on the road somehow. Life leaked from the open wounds, draining his strength. He slipped in and out of consciousness time and time again. Whenever he opened his eyes he found himself someplace new, but he could never keep them open long enough to discern his surroundings. Vern carried him to who knows where. Likely to his death. Or so Clementine presumed.

When next he came to, the blazing fire of his wounds were doused. The pain in his limbs resided to a numb shock. His whole body shivered cold and clammy. A thick layer of sweat glued him to the bed beneath him. Clementine awoke staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. He tried to rise but couldn't muster the strength to even lift his head. All he could do was swivel his eyes around the room.

A fireplace burned in the corner not five feet out of reach, but its heat felt miles away. Beside it was a mannequin bedecked in a suit of armor like what soldiers in the Great War used to wear. Clementine had seen depictions in some of the books he read as a child. Its robust design hinted at an Atlesian origin. The armor itself was old and scratched with a caved in breastplate. On the opposite end of the room was a black wooden piano. Its fallboard was so dusty Clementine doubted it had been opened in years.

Clementine rolled his eyes downwards. His right shoulder was bruised purple and swollen. Dark green gunk filled the lacerations across his bare chest. He'd seen similar treatments made by Old Gran back in Refuge. Whenever someone so much as skinned their knees they'd come running to her. Old Gran rubbed what looked like mud into the wounds. Many of the children thought her to be a witch, creating magical healing mud she scooped from the street. Clementine learned that it was only special herbs ground together from some recipe more ancient than Old Gran herself.

Knowledge for all its worth had a price. So often it would break the illusion of grandeur he possessed as a child. Clementine found that the more he learned the less magical the world became. He couldn't remember the last time he looked upon something with wonder and awe. His initial excitement for the world outside Refuge has since lost most of its flavor. The allure dwindled in that cave so many months ago.

A groaning creak announced the door's opening. A woman stepped inside carrying a pot of water, which she took to the fireplace. She was dressed in cascading loose robes. Layers of draping fabrics the color of deep red. One of which wrapped around her head, sealing her hair within and draping down to cover the right side of her face. She waited by the fire until the water began to steam. Its vapor dispersed up into the stone chimney.

The red-robed woman soaked a towel in the pot before pulling up a chair beside Clementine. As she sat down Clementine got his first real look at his mystery host. She was young, not much older than Clementine himself. Light freckles sprinkled the bridge of her nose and cheekbone. The one eye visible to him glimmered emerald green.

Clementine opened his mouth to speak, but his words came out as a hoarse rasp.

"Shhhhhhh," she dabbed at Clementine's forehead with the hot towel, "Try not to exert yourself."

Clementine shuddered at her touch. It felt as if she were chipping ice off his brain. The slightest of brushes with that towel brought about incredible pain followed swiftly by numb relief.

"How bad?" asked Clementine through gritted teeth.

"Your shoulder is fractured, maybe even broken. The gashes to your chest are deep, but they seemed to have missed anything vital."

The blaring of a train reached Clementine's ears. A sound he had not heard since he left Refuge. The horn was muted most likely a far distance away.

"Where am I?"

"Tricklewood," answered the woman.

Clementine considered a moment, "Never heard of it."

"We're a small village. A few miles from Kuchinashi."

"Kuchinashi?" repeated Clementine in disbelief, "Just how far did that evil horse drag me?"

"You're lucky your horse got you here. He probably saved your life."

"I doubt it. Vern just wanted to extend my suffering. He hasn't caused you too much trouble I hope?"

"None at all. I left him in the stables where I found you."

"You brought me here on your own?" asked Clementine, somewhat surprised.

She gave the smallest of shrugs, "You're not that heavy. Tell me, who is Risa?"

Clementine flinched, "Where did you hear that name?"

"You were muttering it in your sleep. Is Risa a traveling companion of yours? Was she too attacked by the Grimm? I can have a search party rallied and out looking-"

"No," said Clementine, "I travel alone."

"Oh, I see."

The red-robed woman left the damp towel to rest on his forehead while she inspected the numerous slashes covering Clementine's chest. He winced as she cleaned and applied fresh bandaging to the wounds. Her hands were steady. They didn't mind the blood which stained them.

"Are you a doctor?" asked Clementine in hopes some conversation would keep his mind off the resurfacing pain.

"Of sorts. I usually just unlock one's aura. Let that heal what ails them. You however have already unlocked your aura I see. No wonder considering you survived an encounter with a creature of Grimm."

"Just barely," admitted Clementine.

"Your aura is drained from the effort. It will take some time before it is replenished."

"How long?"

She leaned back in the chair, "A day. A week. Depends on the soul. I've applied some poultice to your wounds to help expediate the process. But I wouldn't try moving around much. Not for another week at least."

"Am I to remain here? This is no hospital. Is this your room?"

She shook her head, "My brother's."

"And where is he?"

Her eye instinctively glanced towards the set of old busted armor. The gloom in her gaze answered Clementine's question without need for words. She fell still for a moment of tense silence before rising from the chair.

"I have errands to run. I'll check on your horse as well. Make sure he gets taken care of in your absence. If you need anything, just call."

She hurried towards the door, but before she could step through it Clementine called out.

"Wait," he said, "Might I ask your name?"

She looked back at him over her shoulder, "Its Cara. Cara Sisk."

"My name is Augustus Clementine. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Clementine managed a smile, which Cara squinted at dubiously.

"Is it?"

* * *

Clementine spent days trapped in bed. Confined to the small bedroom. Cara tended to his needs and treated his wounds but avoided any attempts at personal conversation. She regarded him as a patient. Nothing more, despite his best efforts.

By the fourth day Clementine longed for the road once more, preferring its isolation to his time spent with Cara. He even found himself missing Vern to an extent. The beast's odd habits had become a welcome comfort in Clementine's travels. At least they provided him with some kind of backboard to bounce words off. Cara on the other hand swatted those words into the dirt. She was a reclusive soul, closed off to the rest of the world. Her brother was dead. That at least Clementine could determine.

With every passing day spent trapped in the room he gleamed more about the brother. The secrets of his life revealed themselves in the smallest of items left throughout the room and more importantly, how Cara reacted to the sight of them. Judging by the woe in her eye, Clementine knew for a fact Cara's brother died in that suit of armor. Most likely battling Grimm. It could've been years ago for all he knew, but to Cara the loss was fresh. That too he understood. Just hearing Risa's name again left Clementine shaken and lost in old thoughts. Memories so heavily painted over they could be considered new.

Cara did not live alone. Clementine would occasionally hear a second person beyond the closed door. There was a roughness to the edge of the man's voice. They rarely spoke, but when they did it was with terse words often poised in opposition of one another. Clementine couldn't make out their words, but he got the feeling they argued a lot about him. Their guest.

On the fifth day a storm blew into town. The rain battered the roof and pelted the window, obscuring Clementine's only link to the outside world. Lightning flashed in the distance followed soon after by booming thunder. Clementine sat up in bed, reading a book he discovered in the nightstand drawer. A story about a team of four quirky huntsmen and huntresses. Heroes who fought to hold back the tide of evil that were the creatures of Grimm. A favorite of Cara's brother considering how worn the book's binding was when he first discovered it. The story was meant to inspire courage and bravery. A warrior's life. One in which Cara's brother took up. Did he not realize, wondered Clementine, that a warrior's life often ended with a warrior's death?

The door to the room was left ajar for the first time. It failed to close all the way when Cara left in the morning. Clementine didn't complain. It provided him a glimpse into the rest of the house. Through the cracked opening Clementine could make out what he assumed to be the living room. A bucket sat on the floor right under a dripping leak in the ceiling. Clementine stared at the bucket for some time, recalling a contagious smile he once knew.

The consistent leak filled the bucket to the brim in a matter of hours. One sputtering drop after another. Cara arrived before it overflowed. She came into view, her veiled right side facing Clementine. She reached out with her hand, allowing the leak to form a puddle in her palm. The water collected and seeped out through her fingers. She stared up at the ceiling from where the leak came from. The damaged roof not only allowed the rain to trickle in, but a ray of dim moonlight as well. Cara stepped directly underneath the leak with her head tilted back. She stood there basking in the soft beam of light as if it were the sun. With one hand she pulled aside the draping red cloth, which hid the right side of her face.

The blood drained from Clementine's face. Every instinct told him to look away as if he were glimpsing her naked, but he could not. His gaze held, transfixed by what he saw. Cara's right eye was nothing but an empty socket. Heavy scarring marred her cheek and upper lip. The puckered flesh pulled back the corner of her mouth, revealing molars and tendons. She angled her head, allowing for the light and rainwater to wash over the right side of her face.

As if sensing his eyes on her, Cara turned towards Clementine. Through the crack in the door their gazes met. She looked at him whole for the first time. The raw vulnerability of her stare shook Clementine to his core. He saw in that one eye a twisting nether of emotion capable of tearing the world apart.

Without breaking eye contact, Cara strode forward. She reached the door and gently closed it shut without making so much as a creak.

* * *

By morning the storm carried on heading south. In its wake the stream overflowed. All the excess water spilled into Tricklewood, flooding the streets. Like most people on mornings such as this Cara was slow to rise. Though it wasn't drowsiness which sapped her movement. She feared going back into that room. He'd seen her after all. Such things could not be glossed over, not in Cara's experience. There'd be questions and concerns, ones if not spoken aloud then through the glances exchanged in passing.

Unlike the rest of the village, she could not avoid Augustus Clementine. He'd be expecting her. Cara was already late for her usual morning check-in. No doubt he knew why. There was a cleverness to him. Wisdom beyond his years.

Gathering her courage and a morning breakfast, Cara exited her bedroom. Her father sat in his chair where he passed out the night before, clutching a half empty bottle. He gave no sign that he was awake, much less noticed her. She hoped he'd remain passed out for the rest of the morning, but it was not to be.

"He still here then?" grumbled her father, "Why don't you send him home already?"

Cara paused in the middle of the foyer, "I told you already. He has no place else to go. I can't just kick him to the curb."

"If you won't, I will." He spoke without ever looking in her general direction.

"His wounds are severe. He cannot travel on his own."

Her father merely grunted in response and returned to his drink. Cara eyed him for a time, before continuing on to her brother's old room. She knocked before entering.

Augustus Clementine sat up in his bed, going through the knapsack Cara retrieved from his horse's saddle.

"Good morning," he greeted.

"Morning," she set the tray of breakfast food down on the nightstand beside the bed.

"May I ask you something?"

Cara braced herself, "What is it?"

"I can't seem to find my Scroll."

"Come again?"

"I had it in my saddlebag, but now I can't seem to find it anywhere. Have you seen it?"

"No…No I have not. Though I suspect I know where it is."

"Really?" asked Clementine, "Where?"

"I was not the first to find you. There were others. They saw fit to go through your pockets before treating your injuries. If you're missing anything, they probably stole it," she turned to make her exit, "I know them, I'll go get it for you."

"Can I come with you?"

"Its still to early for you to be moving around."

"I know, but I can't stand being cooped up in here any longer. I think a good walk to stretch my legs will do me good."

Cara wanted to protest, but Clementine was already getting out of bed.

"Fine," she relented, "but don't push yourself."

"I don't intend to."

Clementine threw on some clothes he kept stored in his knapsack. A white dress shirt and a lavish purple suit vest. Both of which were surprisingly clean. He must've kept good care of them on the road. Cara helped him find his footing and with careful steps, exited the room.

Groggy, bloodshot eyes fixed on Clementine as soon as he stepped through the door.

"Oh, so he _can_ walk."

Clementine smiled at the pointed remark, "You must be Mr. Sisk."

"And you must be the freeloader."

"Mr. Sisk let me assure you, I intend to pay my debts to both you and your daughter. I'm very grateful for the hospitality and care you both have given me."

"Hmpf."

"Do you want anything while I'm out?" asked Cara, already knowing how he'd answer.

He raised his bottle, "I got all I need right here."

It was his typical response whenever she tried to help him. The man preferred a drunken stupor over a conversation with his daughter. Cara nudged Clementine forward, guiding him towards the door.

The damp streets were busy as people went about their business. Many were caught off-guard by her appearance. She rarely went out during daylight hours. Cara ignored them as best she could, deciding instead to keep an eye on Clementine. She didn't fail to notice that he neglected to put on any shoes or socks, but rather she thought it best not to question him about it. He seemed rather comfortable walking through the muck in bare feet. Though he heavily favored his left leg.

"You're limping," she observed.

"An old wound, nothing more."

"Grimm?"

"Human," he spoke the word with sour distaste, "What about yours?"

No further words were needed. Cara knew exactly what he was referring to, she was just surprised it took this long to get there.

"Grimm," said Cara, "A long time ago."

"Does it hurt?"

"Everyday."

Clementine sighed, "Yeah, mine too."

They walked in silence for a few strides before Cara turned towards him, "Where are you from?"

"Refuge," answered Clementine.

"Refuge? Isn't that the city that blew up?"

"Is that what you heard?"

"I've heard a lot of stories. Earthquakes, explosions, slave mines, a dead councilmember…We don't get many travelers here on account of the train passing us by. But those who come through do have their own version of the tale. Each one more outrageous than the last. I've even heard the train used to smuggle illegal shipments of Dust throughout Mistral. But now that Vulcan Industries has been shut down the Schnee Dust Company has all but taken over. Is that why you're here now? To get away from all of that?"

"In a way, yes. What about you? Been here all your life?"

"Tricklewood has always been my home."

Clementine watched the villagers pass them by. He saw their gazes slide away as they approached. He kept his thoughts to himself, yet Cara could see the hints of contempt in his features. She quickened her pace, heading towards the lumber mill where she knew she'd find Dion.

The mill was built beside the stream where the water current kept the wheel spinning. It generated enough power to run their primary saw and other tools the lumber mill utilized. With last night's storm the stream gushed with excess, causing the wheel to spin at a faster rate. The workers at the mill took advantage of this. They were already in full swing. All hands on deck. The buzzing sound of saws cut through the air. The whole mill choked on saw dust.

Cara and Clementine waded their way through the suffocating cloud, with hands shielding their eyes. Their presence caught the attention of many, but none approached them. They simply went about their work. Cara found Dion at his usual position at the main saw, carving trees in half. There were many to split. The storm devastated the surrounding woods, felling many trees in the process.

Dion pulled up his safety goggles and squinted at the pair as they came near, "So he lives."

Clementine leaned against a pillar for support, "No thanks to you from what I hear."

"His Scroll," said Cara, "give it back."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm not in the mood to play games."

Dion crossed his arms with all the confidence in the world, "What would you give me for it?"

Cara instantly regretted confronting Dion in front of his coworkers. The man was prideful above anything. He wouldn't give in, not when everyone else was watching on.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"A fair trade, that's all."

"I'll make you a deal," Augustus Clementine limped forward, "Give me back my Scroll and I won't kill you."

Buzzing tools came to an abrupt end around them. The incoherent whispers of those watching on were silenced. Their sudden halt attracted their fellow workers. In a matter of seconds, the whole lumber mill went quiet. All eyes were now fixed on Dion and the barefooted stranger in purple. Dion laughed, thinking it was a joke, but Clementine's stare was as cold as ice.

"Well," he said, "do we have a deal?"

Dion glanced about, all too aware of the crowd they had garnered. His calloused hands clenched into fists. He hid his anger behind a strained smile.

"No one here can take a joke. Here, take it," Dion pulled the Scroll from his pocket and tossed it to Clementine who caught it with ease, "Darned thing is locked anyways."

Clementine slipped the Scroll into his vest pocket, "Pleasure doing business with you," He showed Dion his back and hobbled away the victor.

Cara remained behind long enough to see Dion's smile twist with fury. He saved some face, but not enough. Already his coworkers were snickering behind his back.

The manager of the mill stepped onto the stage, "Alright, shows over. Everyone get back to work, we got a busy schedule this week and those deadlines aren't going to make themselves."

The workers returned to their duties and Cara took her leave. She caught up with Clementine and waited until they were out of earshot from the mill before speaking.

"That's a fancy Scroll you got there."

"It was a gift."

"So, it's of great worth to you?"

Clementine gave a halfhearted shrug, "Not really."

Cara studied the young man as if seeing him for the first time, "Is violence your natural impulse then?"

"I've known his type before. They care too much about their reputations. If he took up the threat and beat me to a pulp, then he would've gained nothing but distaste for there is no joy in beating up a cripple. However, if by some means he lost to that cripple it would be even worse for him. The threat was a bluff. I left him with only one real option."

Despite his words Cara wasn't certain. No part of his threat seemed a bluff. Not to her. Clementine was either a great actor or a hardened killer. Cara quickly dismissed the latter from thought.

* * *

Clementine chased after sleep to no avail. It avoided him at every turn. Even with the medicine Cara concocted his wounds proved too great. He spent hours twisting and turning in bed. No position remained comfortable for long. His fileted chest burned like a brand. Clementine tried focusing on anything besides his pain, but his mind refused to quiet.

A discordant symphony held a concert in his head. Voices. A chorus of echoing screams. Every once in a while, a single voice would cut through the rest as sharp as steel. Their words were torn from the past. Clementine writhed in bed. The concert burgeoned to a cadence that threatened to split his skull.

Yet, all it took was the creak of a door to silence the mad orchestra. Clementine jolted up into a sitting position and listened as the front door swiftly closed. For a moment he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him, for Mr. Sisk left hours ago and never returned until the next morning. Not at least since Clementine took up residence in the small cabin of a home. So, he went to the window where he glimpsed Cara's silhouette receding to the outskirts of Tricklewood.

Curiosity grew like an itch. Clementine threw on his clothes and rushed out to follow. He stumbled in the dark looking for signs of where Cara may have gone. Tracking her down proved as difficult as finding sleep. After ten minutes of fruitless searching Clementine elected to set off in the general direction he saw her take. He'd rather get lost in the woods than return to bed for another sleepless night.

The path he took led away from the main street. The number of houses dwindled as he walked. Without walls it was tough to tell where Tricklewood ended and the wild began. When the light of the last house faded behind him, Clementine consciously put up his aura. He had no intention of getting mauled by another creature of Grimm when he was still recovering from the first attack.

No one knew how many stalked the wild. The common Beowulf was not much trouble. They were ferocious, but heavy-footed. One got fair warning when Beowulf were on the prowl. In his travels so far, Clementine learned to fear the small ones. Those few silent hunters. Like the one he killed. Clementine survived its ambush only because he knew of its existence. He'd seen what that creature left behind on the road some days before. Unlucky travelers slaughtered in the night not far from where Clementine slept. Their windpipes were crushed first so that they couldn't shout for help. The rest of what followed must've been eerily quiet.

Clementine adjusted his path, drawn in by the sound of the trickling stream for which the village was named. The moon skipped across the water's surface, casting scattered rays of light in all directions. From across the stream came a sudden rush of red robes, which caused Clementine to instinctively take cover behind the brush.

At first it was nothing more than a swirl of movement, but as his eyes adjusted the display across the stream came into focus. Cara danced over the pebbled ground, her red robes trailing behind her like an afterimage. The glint of steel lashed out from her hand, slicing arcs into the air. Every movement was swift and precise, but not without a sense of grace. She cut down her imaginary enemies one by one. A hundred men could've had her surrounded and a hundred men would've fallen at her feet.

Clementine hid behind the brush, mesmerized by the sheer skill and beauty of what he witnessed. He became so entranced by the display he failed to notice the increasing pressure his knee placed upon a fallen branch. One of the many shaken loose by last night's storm. It snapped under the pressure. A crack which splintered the air.

Cara shot towards the noise, gliding over the stream without making a sound. Clementine barely had time to stand before she came upon him. The tip of her curved sword stopped mere inches from Clementine's throat where it was held. Her one eye locked on him.

"Can't sleep?" she asked in a not unfriendly tone.

Clementine swallowed back down his heart, "Who can sleep with all this excitement?"

Cara pressed the blade lightly against his skin, "What excites you so? There is nothing out here. Nothing anyone would believe if you told them."

"Tell them? No, I don't imagine I'll be doing that at all."

She withdrew the blade, "Good."

Clementine allowed himself a shaky breath as Cara backed away. His jaw dropped when he noticed her floating in the air inches above the ground. As she sheathed her scimitar, Cara lowered herself back onto her feet. The stream behind her flowed clear without a ripple of disturbance.

"Amazing," said Clementine, "Simply amazing."

"It's called semblance."

"Oh, I'm well aware."

Cara paused and inspected Clementine with a curious glance, "Not many are."

He merely smiled, "So, you come out here often?"

"Sometimes. When the moon decides to share its glow."

"I've found the sun to be more generous with its light. Then again, if you want to keep such talents a secret from the rest of the village then I suppose the dead of night is the best of times."

Cara said nothing but moved to take a seat on top of a toppled log beside the stream's bank. There she stared into the water at her own dark, opaque reflection. Clementine shuffled his feet, at first uncertain, but when she glanced at him his doubt lifted. He joined Cara on the log, seating himself to her left.

"Where did you learn to fight?" he asked.

"I'm self-taught."

"As am I," Clementine chuckled, "I'm either a poor student or a terrible teacher. Probably both."

"You've fought a lot, I presume?"

"Less than I should have. I've got a bad habit of having others fight my battles for me. What about you? Who were the poor souls you were slaying over there?"

Cara's expression darkened, "They have no souls."

"Ah, I see…And for a second I thought it would be Dion lying dead on the pebbles there."

"Don't be stupid. He's a jerk, but harmless. He can't help what he is. None of them can."

"I've seen the way they look at you. You might as well be an unwelcome guest like me." Clementine thought for sure he pressed too far, but Cara did not fight his words. Much to his surprise.

"They can think what they want, makes no difference to me."

"Might I ask why they hold you in such low regard?"

Cara eyed him for a time before letting her gaze slip away.

"My brother was loved by all in the village. He served as our lone protector against the Grimm who occasionally attacked our lands. He was great warrior, but an even better musician. Half the village would gather around our house whenever his fingers touched those piano keys. Just to listen…The only time they came for me was to complain. I was a miscreant. A troublemaker who ran with Dion and the other misfit children when we were young. Tolerated. Until I got my brother killed."

Her lone eye swelled with tears, "One day, father was busy working at the Honeydrip. Dion and the rest of my friends were grounded for having stolen some prized meat from Yegor's butcher shop. So, I had no one to play with. No one, but my brother. I knew his routine. So, I chased after him. Pestered him on his patrol duties, ignoring his every attempt to send me back. What was the danger? We were both laughing anyways. That is until a creature of Grimm attacked. Of course…Something my brother dealt with on a daily basis. But on that day, I was with him. If it weren't for me, he would've slayed the Grimm and come home. But he died saving me."

Tears streamed down her face.

"Have you slain it yet?" asked Clementine, "The Grimm who killed your brother."

"Honestly, I don't know. I only ever saw the red of its eyes before my own went dark. It doesn't matter anyway. They're all the same. To exact vengeance I would need to kill every single one of them. An impossible task for myself alone. So, I focus on what I can do. I walk the same route my brother once took. I keep Tricklewood safe."

"You protect those who scorn you?"

"It's penance."

"Its punishment. Undeserving at that."

"You would take it away from me?" she asked in a hardened tone, "The one thing that gets me out of bed in the morning."

"I'm sorry," said Clementine, "It's just hard for me to understand."

Cara's glare returned to face her reflection, "Maybe you're right. But there is nothing else for me to do."

"The world is full of possibilities. With your skills you can do a lot more than just protect one small village."

"You'd have me leave my father?"

"I hate to ask, but when last has he truly been with you?"

Cara's smile was brittle, "He was the first to find me, you know. His son was dead, but I lived. Holding on by a thread so I've been told. My father went from village to village, seeking out healer after healer. Desperation kept him going when all others would've crumpled into grief ridden shock. Eventually, I was saved by a doctor in Kuchinashi. But the cost was high."

Cara reached up and touched the red cloth which hid half her face, "It's ironic, don't you think? After fighting so hard to keep me alive my father couldn't so much as bare the sight of me. Maybe it was how I looked. Or the dawning knowledge that it was I who got my brother killed in the first place. Regardless…everyone who looks at me, the real me, looks away. All except you, Augustus Clementine."

Clementine sat stunned by what he heard. No words existed that could follow all that. None that his puny mind could string together. Cara's hand inched towards him. Her fingers wrapped around his hand and squeezed.

"Thank you, for seeing me."

They sat together on that log until the morning sun peeked over the horizon. Neither one of them said another word. When they eventually returned to the village, they did so together.

* * *

After that night by the stream Cara closed herself off once again. Clementine couldn't blame her. She had revealed herself to him and in doing endangered the soft blanket of isolation she had grown used too. He gave her the space she wanted. Days went by where they didn't even say each other's names. During those long empty hours Clementine struggled with his boredom. The village of Tricklewood was a small unwelcoming place for strangers. There was little he could do without stirring up trouble.

Day after day Clementine eyed the piano. Each time his gaze held just a little longer. Eventually his self-control failed. Clementine pulled out the piano bench and took a seat on the firm cushion. He wiped his hand across the fallboard, coming away with a thick layer of dust. The piano was old, but elegantly carved and gilded with flowery designs across its panels. The fallboard proved stuck not by lock and key, but rather the rust of time holding it in place like glue. Clementine had to pry it apart, lifting the fallboard with a small squeak.

The keys underneath glistened as if new, untouched by the ravages of time. Clementine traced his fingers across the smooth keyboard. With his feet, he tested the pedals below. Like the fallboard they were stuck and required breaking in. Many musicians back at the World Theatre believed that an instrument was like a muscle. If gone unused for an elongated period of time the instrument would atrophy. Clementine hoped this wasn't the case as he pressed down on one of the keys.

The note resounded in the small bedroom clear as a whistle. Its toll sent a shiver down Clementine's spine. It had been too long since he'd heard proper music. He had no noteworthy skill with the piano, but he picked up a few things when asked to fill in from time to time. Clementine cracked his knuckles and set his fingers to work. They were sluggish at first, fumbling over one another. But as he progressed, they fell into a rhythm. Muscle memory long forgotten resurfaced in the form of a few simple chords.

The music filled Clementine's ears. Not enough though to deafen him to the heavy stomps marching his way. The door swung open hard enough to fracture the framing. Mr. Sisk burst into the room with a fury in his eyes. Before Clementine even had a chance to react the man came upon him. Mr. Sisk grabbed Clementine by the scruff of his neck and yanked him from the piano, knocking over the bench in the process. He slammed Clementine against the wall and held him there with the tips of his feet just barely touching the floor.

"What do you think you're doing?" shouted Mr. Sisk. The booze was thick on his breath. His swollen red cheeks quivered with rage.

Dazed from his head smacking the wall, Clementine couldn't form a response. He seized Mr. Sisk by the wrists and tried to pry them loose but lacked the strength. Underneath the sleeves Clementine felt the bump of scars running down the length of the man's arms. They were too thin and evenly spread apart to be the work of bone claws.

Drawn by the commotion, Cara rushed into the room.

"Dad! Let him go!"

"He was touching his things," yelled Mr. Sisk, "Getting his dirty fingers all over them!"

"So what?" she snapped back, "They don't matter anymore."

"They matter to me. He's my son. They're more important than this stranger you've brought into our home."

"Dad-"

"And they're more important than you."

Cara stumbled as if slapped. Her imbalance lasted but a few moments before she pushed those emotions far down.

"You don't mean that," said Cara in a quiet voice, "You're drunk. You're always drunk. Now let Augustus go."

"Why is he even still here? He's fine enough as he's ever gonna get."

"Dad, let him go now or you won't be able to hold another bottle in those hands."

Her tone was sharp like a knife's razor edge. Even in his drunken state, Mr. Sisk could tell that was no empty threat. And so, he lowered Clementine to the ground.

"Get out of my house."

Clementine glared into the man's eyes, mirroring his anger. He noticed both his hands were balled into fists. It took a conscious effort for Clementine to unfurl them. This was not his fight, even though he caused it. Gathering his things, Clementine limped from the room.

As he passed Cara he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Mr. Sisk slammed the front door shut, nearly hitting Clementine in the back with the knob. Clementine couldn't bear to take another step. He but stood outside the house listening to them argue from within. Their quarrel was nothing new, only this time it ended in tears. Mr. Sisk locked himself away in his dead son's room. His sobs were painful to hear. For the first time Clementine felt pity for the man. Everything that he was; rage, resentment, hatred…It all stemmed from the loss of his son. So blinded he was by that loss he couldn't even see what he still had.

Clementine waited outside the house hoping for Cara to emerge, but she never did. Mr. Sisk's anguish carried on though like a record stuck on a loop. Clementine dropped his things in the dirt and pushed through the door. Inside he found Cara sitting slumped in her father's chair in the foyer, staring off at nothing. She was slow to notice Clementine's presence and when she did, she quickly wiped away her tears.

"This damned chair," sniffled Cara, "He sleeps in it every night, you know. Angled to face the front door as if he expects him to return any day."

"I shouldn't have touched the piano."

"It's not your fault. He gets this way from time to time. Even after all these years…Sometimes I wonder if he will ever get better."

"Come with me," said Clementine. He meant it to phrase it as a question, but the words came out sounding more like an order. One in which Cara didn't seem to understand.

"What?"

"We're leaving."

"And going where?" asked Cara with a hint of curiosity in her tone.

"Anywhere but here. Just for the day…Please."

Cara glanced over at the closed bedroom door where her father's weeping leaked through. She squeezed the arms of the chair, digging her nails into the worn fabric.

"Okay," she said, "Let's go."

Clementine tossed his bags over his shoulder and led Cara from the house. They hadn't gone more than ten feet before Clementine realized he had no idea where he was going. All he wanted to do was take Cara far enough away so she didn't have to endure her father's sobs. With that accomplished Clementine was at a loss for where to go next. Cara on the other hand, had a destination in mind. Before he knew it, their roles were reversed and she was leading him.

"Come on," she said striding past him, "I need a drink."

Cara led Clementine to the Honeydrip Inn, pushing past the doors as if she owned the place. There were quite a few patrons mooching about within, most of them workers from the mill who looked to have just finished their shift. Voices lowered to a hushed whisper upon their entry. Clementine noticed that their glances held longer on him than they did before the confrontation over the Scroll. Dion himself sat in a corner booth enclosed on all sides by his buddies. He shot his glare into his drink and sloshed it down, pretending he didn't notice them. Perhaps that was for the best.

The Honeydrip had a golden glow about it which brightened as the sun set. Every flat wooden surface was coated with oil, giving the interior a sugary gleam. Radio music hummed in the background filling the large building with a lively ambiance.

Clementine followed Cara to their seats directly at the bar. After a short exchange of words, the bartender filled two glass pints with a frothy golden brew and set it before them. Cara halted the man just as he was about to move to help his next patron.

"Excuse me," she said, "Do you have any straws?"

"Straws?" he repeated as if confused. The realization dawned on him, draining the color from his face. "Yes, of course we have straws. One moment."

The man rummaged through some cabinets below the bar countertop before reemerging with a red striped straw which he placed in Cara's drink. Made uncomfortable by the exchange the bartender moved on without waiting to hear Cara's thanks.

"You've been here before?" asked Clementine.

"Not for a long time."

Cara sipped her drink with the straw wedged to the left corner of her lips. Clementine's smile turned into a snicker, earning him a look of confusion from Cara.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing…Its just under your care you've fed me, tended to my wounds, assisted me in just about every embarrassing thing I can think of. And yet, I haven't seen you take so much as drink until now. It's funny, I suppose."

Clementine took a swig from his own pint, savoring every drop as it washed down his throat. It was sweet and thick just like honey itself. Just about everyone else in sight slurped the same drink. Clementine guessed it was the Honeydrip's signature beverage. Far better than anything Coll had stocked up back in the Mud District.

"You're looking better." Said Cara.

"Sorry?"

"Your aura is restored and hard at work sealing those cuts and mending those bones. I'll estimate another week before you're fully recovered."

"I don't want to impose on you any further. Not after today. I'll find someplace else to sleep."  
"They got plenty of rooms here. The innkeeper is kind, he'll see to Vern. You don't need me anymore."

"On the contrary, I've been having massive headaches at night. Do you have anything to help dull the pain?"

Cara raised her glass and took a long sip. Smiling, Clementine did the same. They both drained their pints and downed half of the second. By that point a tingling sensation sprouted from the tips of Clementine's fingers and moved up to his face. A strange feeling, but not unwelcome.

Cara cocked her head to better listen to the music, "Do you dance?"

Clementine nearly choked on his drink, "No. I've got a bum leg, remember? Not exactly one for smooth and graceful movements."

She smiled as if taking that as a challenge, "Dance with me."

"Here? Now?"

"Why not?"

Clementine wanted to say no, but he'd never seen her smile like that. So open and pure. Like how Kiera and Buckets would look at one another. The sight of it made Clementine's heart race.

"Fine…Lets dance."

Cara took him by the arm and pulled him from his seat, guiding him out to the open tavern floor. Nervous sweat broke out across his face. Clementine knew how to dance. He'd seen Monnie and Merri dance in all different incredible ways. Once, in a time he could no longer recall, he'd even joined them on stage. But that was no longer him.

The dull ache in Clementine's right leg, which usually slipped from his mind unnoticed, became all too sensitive. Clementine could feel the slightest pressure whenever he stepped down on that foot. Cara held him by his hands, steadying him somewhat.

"Relax," she said, "And don't look down."

A pulse radiated through Clementine. A wave of energy stemming from Cara's touch. Together, they rose into the air. His feet lifted from the ground, hovering just above it, completely weightless. The pressure in his right leg faded as if he wasn't even standing on it at all.

"H-how?" he mumbled, "I don't know how to move like this."

"Do you think when you walk? Must you determine where and when you plant your foot with every step? Left, right, left, right? No. Your mind knows where you want to go. Let it guide you just like normal. Don't think about it at all. Trust me."

With that, she took the first step. A long stride backwards. The distance between them grew apart. Cara waited for him, patiently. Clementine fought the urge to look down as he stepped forward. His body drifted along as if pulled by his foot. Cara nodded her approval and stepped again, this time to her right. Clementine followed.

They moved like this for a whole song's length. Slow and deliberate. More of a stuttered walk than a dance. But for the next song they picked up speed, even adding the occasional spin. Before long the two couldn't stop giggling. The other patrons in the Honeydrip watched on with a mix of surprise and disquiet. Dion especially smoldered with a glare, tracking them as they danced.

Clementine didn't care. The rest of the world faded to background noise. It was just him and Cara, floating in space. The two of them glided over the floor as if skating on ice. The music didn't get any louder, but to Clementine it filled the room. A rhythm born from their two beating hearts. He could hear their cadence louder than any radio. Cara's dance was unquestionably similar to the way she fought, swift and graceful. When she spun her loose red robes twirled mimicking a flowerlike shape. Clementine on the other hand was far more chaotic. He struggled to keep up. Several times he slipped and thought he'd fall, but Cara kept at least one hand interlinked with his at all times. She pulled him back up with effortless ease.

By the time they slowed to a halt the moon had completely overtaken the sun. Cara lowered them both back to the ground. Clementine stumbled, momentarily caught off-balance by his own weight. With her he was as light as a feather, but when her hand slipped from his Clementine's heart sank like stone.

"You're going back?" he asked.

Cara looked to the handcrafted clock hanging above the bar, "It's late."

"Maybe you can stay. Here…With me."

Her mouth opened, but no words came out. She stared at Clementine, searching his eyes as if she couldn't quite believe he was real. Ignoring the twisting flutter in his gut, Clementine brushed over her exposed cheek with his hand, moving it behind her head and gently pulling her in close.

Their lips met for a brief encounter. Clementine pulled away, unsure. Thousands of words ran through his head, but he was incapable of giving voice to any. Doubt festered in his brain. A worry burned away when Cara pulled him in for a deep kiss. Without speaking another word, the two rented out a room upstairs and hurried to it.

Panic made of Clementine a nervous wreck. Though he tried to fight it his hands wouldn't stop trembling. They embraced for a long passionate kiss. Their interlaced fingers split apart to wander over each other's bodies.

Following Cara's example, Clementine undressed and fell onto the bed. The scars on his chest were already fading and his fractured shoulder was almost fully mended. Cara had her own collection of battle scars across her body. The most gruesome of which remained hidden by the veil still covering her face. He tried to lock eyes with Cara, but her gaze fell to the floor.

All at once, Clementine realized he was not alone in his terror. And so he reached out, slipping his hand underneath the draping red mask. Cara recoiled, turning to hide her face.

"No," she muttered in a timid voice like that of a frightened child.

"Its alright," he said, "Cara, it's alright."

Shaken, Cara allowed Clementine to brush the mask away. Her cheeks flushed a rosy red, exaggerating the highlights of her freckles. She faced him then, fully vulnerable. Her marred lips quivered with doubt same as Clementine's own heart. But he shared with her a smile and bit by bit, her uncertainty crumbled away.

Cara pulled on the loose cloth and began unwrapping the bundle around her head. It fell away, releasing her hair which tumbled past her naked shoulders the color of new fallen autumn leaves.

Clementine ran his fingers through those fiery curls, "Beautiful."

* * *

Cara didn't get much sleep. She spent the night studying the young man lying at her side. The wandering stranger. Her friend. Augustus Clementine. There was still so much she didn't know about him. Despite his youth, he had old eyes. They'd seen a lot in his short time. His past was a mystery to her, intentionally kept hidden behind a disarming smile. What he'd witnessed Cara could only guess at, but she understood better than most why he'd conceal himself.

Sunlight crept through the shuttered windows, illuminating the small but cozy room. Cara got out of bed and donned her robes, all but her headdress. She paused to let the right side of her face soak up the sun's warmth for it was all it would get for the rest of the day. Holding her hair up in a tight bundle, Cara wrapped the cloth around her head and fixed the veil over her face. Clementine watched her morning routine with some interest. He seemed content to lay in bed all day.

"You're going to go see him then?" he asked.

"I am," answered Cara.

"I see."

She turned to face him, "You sound disappointed."

"Not at all. On the contrary, I'm rather impressed. Your capacity to forgive and accept…Its something I've come to admire."

"There's no need for flattery."

"No, I'm serious. I envy you."

Clementine's gaze slid away as if he were viewing something far beyond her. Cara wondered what it could be but didn't ask out of fear of unraveling something better left alone.

"I don't know how long I'll be gone," said Cara.

A cloudiness pulled over Clementine's eyes like a sheet of wool. He gave no sign that he even heard her.

Cara raised her voice, "I'll be going now."

Clementine snapped out of his daze, "Good luck."

Cara nodded her appreciation and took her leave.

The Honeydrip Inn had emptied out for the most part with just a handful of exceptions. Dion and his gang were passed out at the bar. As she descended the steps, Dion blinked open one crusted eye. Disgust oozed from his glare. Cara paid him no mind. She had long since ceased caring what people think of her.

Silence encompassed the lonesome street she called home. Cara halted at the front door. She imagined her father just beyond, sitting in his chair with a bottle in his hands. It's how she found him nearly every morning when she returned from her nightly pursuits. Most of the time he'd be asleep. But there were those rare unlucky mornings when he'd stir upon entry. His bloodshot eyes would watch her as if a thief had broken in. Cara could stomach all the contempt in the world from the people of Tricklewood, but never her father. His disdain though, brittle as it was, never lasted. He'd quickly look away. An act which hurt more than the judgmental stare itself.

Cara took hold of the doorknob and twisted it gently as to avoid making too much noise. The door creaked open, revealing an empty chair in the middle of the foyer. Normally she'd be relieved at such a sight, but after yesterday's fight the empty chair only filled her with dread. Cara rushed to her father's room, finding it empty. The place was a mess with clothes and empty bottles tossed about all over the place. Only the bed was spared for it had gone unused for some time.

Cara went to her own room and rummaged through the closet. Underneath a pile of extra linens on the top shelf she found the gun. Right where she'd left it. The panic which infected her mind the moment she saw that empty chair subsided. She sighed in relief and sagged against the wall, taking a few moments to catch her breath before heading to the only other place her father could be.

He sat by the fireplace watching its coals smolder to ashes. In his lap he cradled her brother's old helmet. A piece to the set which her father wore when he was young and his father before him. The lineage traced back generations, or so she was told as a child. A priceless heirloom meant to be worn with pride now served only as a grim reminder.

"Father," said Cara. Her voice however did not reach him. She moved up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder, "Dad."

He stirred as if awoken even though his eyes were wide open. He glanced up and squinted at her, "Declan?"

Cara flinched at the mention of her brother's name, "No Dad. It's me, Cara."

The glaze faded from the old man's eyes, "Oh…" he turned back to stare at the ashes in the fireplace.

"You wish it were him though, don't you?" asked Cara, "You wish I died, and Declan lived?"

His grip on the helmet tightened, "Is that what you think?"

"It's what I want. Not a day goes by where I don't wish it to be true. I would give anything to make it happen. Because I'm the one who got him killed," her voice shook with pent-up fury, "His blood is on my hands. You knew the moment you found me out there. So tell me something…Why did you even save me?"

He was long to respond. The crackling light of the fire made shadows of his eyes. Cara noticed for the first time how wrinkled her father's face had become. His once jet-black hair withered gray. Grief aged him far beyond his years.

"You're my daughter," he said at last, "You're all that I have left."

"And yet, I'm not enough."

"No," he snapped, "No, no, _I'm_ not enough. A part me died with your mother. Another was murdered that day I lost Declan. There simply isn't enough of myself left to love you or anything else in this world."

"Then why continue on living?"

"Because I'm too weak to end it. You know that, don't pretend like you've forgotten."

Cara remembered all too well. There were other mornings just like this one where she'd find that chair empty and the gun missing from its hiding place.

She knelt in front of him. His eyes darted across the room, but there was little else to look at. Eventually his gaze fell upon her in sunken defeat.

"There was a time when we were close," said Cara, "Do you remember? You used to take me out to the stream and teach me how to skip rocks across the water."

"That was a long time ago."

"Yes, it was. A lot has happened since. I don't think we'll ever get back to the way things were. But, I'm offering you a chance to move forward. To salvage some kind of relationship between the two of us."

"After all this time…The burdens I've placed upon you. Why do you even want anything to do with me?"

"We've both suffered at each other's hands," admitted Cara, "Regardless of it all, you're still my father. Nothing will ever change that. But I need you to make a choice because I'm tired of this. Aren't you?"

Tears welled up in the old man's eyes, "What do I have to do?"

Cara cupped her hands over his, "Be here. If I'm going to stay I need you to be with me. Quit hiding away in a bottle."

"I-I can't" he murmured.

"Yes, you can."

"And what about you? You're gone every night. I don't know where you go, but you come back some mornings battered and bleeding. Who does that to you?"

"No one."

His eyes widened with fear, "You do it to yourself."

Cara feverishly shook her head, "No."

"What then? What do you do?"

"I keep Declan's torch burning. I go out and I protect Tricklewood from any Grimm who wander too close."

"That's insane!"

"It wasn't when Declan did it."

"Your brother was a huntsman! He trained to fight those monsters."

"So have I."

"You want them to kill you. Is that it?"

"No, that's in your head"

The old man choked back a horrid sob, "You're the same as me."

"No," she growled, "No I'm not. What I do out there I do for Declan. To honor his memory. I'm not trying to escape anything."

He winced against her hardened tone, "Yes…You're right, of course. I didn't mean to-You're not like me. No, you're strong…Strong like Declan."

He pushed himself to his feet. Cara tried to help him up, but he gently pushed her aside. With wobbly steps he made his way over to the piano. Cara watched as he bent down and righted the knocked over bench.

"I shouldn't have done what I did yesterday," he closed shut the fallboard, "But I couldn't bear to hear the piano again. You understand that, don't you?"

"I do."

"The thought of anyone else touching _his_ piano," he grimaced, "Drives me nuts. I don't know why. Some things I can't let go. Still, I shouldn't have hurt him."

"Don't worry about it. Clementine is fine, staying at the Honeydrip Inn."

"You like him, don't you?"

The question caught Cara by surprise.

Her father grunted, "Figured. What? Thought I wouldn't notice. I'm drunk, not blind."

Cara crossed her arms, "You disapprove?"

"I think we're way past the point of me giving you fatherly advice. But regardless, be careful of him. He's got black eyes."

"Purple, actually."

"That's not what I meant. There is a shadow on him, Cara. One I don't think you fully comprehend."

"You've barely spoken two words to him."

"Sometimes less is more."

Cara scoffed, "You're drunk."

"I wish."

She snickered despite herself. Her father grumbled a laugh as well. Though short-lived it filled Cara's heart to hear again.

* * *

At first, he was terrified. Romance was a topic Clementine had no real experience with. Monnie and Merri often went into great detail about all kinds of love much to his chagrin. They however were more teasing than educating. So, when the time came, Clementine fumbled. But much like the dance Cara guided him along. She was gentle and sweet. Her laughter unfurled the twisting knot of awkward tension bundling up inside him.

That night Clementine forgot his worries. His past. For the first time since the fire, he felt at peace. True rest. He marveled at such a feeling. Not even his still aching wounds could bother him. But like most things, it didn't last.

When Cara left that morning, Clementine's worries returned tenfold. Questions piled up in his mind. All new concerns. Another discordant orchestra. Only this time the voice was his own, whispering uncertainty and planting seeds of fear. In his gut, that hollow empty void made its presence known once again.

Clementine jolted out of bed as if waking from a nightmare. He limped downstairs hoping to acquire another pint of that delicious Honeydrip brew. Perhaps its was the key to unlocking that serenity he discovered the night before. If not, then it would at least help dull the pain seared into his chest. As he reached the bottom steps Clementine chastised himself. He understood now in just the smallest of ways the attraction of alcohol. No wonder it enslaved so many. Even those as great as Runt Braun surrendered to its influence for a time. Temptation, Clementine realized, was the greatest weapon of all.

Soft soothing music lulled the hungover patrons still rousing from where they passed out the night previously. Clementine spotted Dion at the bar with two friends. They eyed him as he came down the stairs like he was breakfast. Not in the mood to deal with them, Clementine took a seat at the opposite end of the bar. He decided against a drink and instead ordered breakfast of his own, using his Scroll to pay for the meal and the room.

It boggled Clementine's mind how that worked. All the Lien he ever needed in a simple piece of technology. Roland Teal's gift sent by courier. Clementine still wondered if it was even indeed a gift, or something else entirely. A reminder perhaps. That seemed more likely. Roland Teal held no love for him. His gifts were in truth poison and Clementine thanked him for it.

"You catch him coming down the stairs, boys?" asked Dion at the other end of the bar, "The little cripple was practically skipping."

His friends laughed as if it were some big joke. Clementine smiled in their direction but said nothing.

Dion made his way over, keeping one hand on the bar to steady himself as if he might collapse at any moment. The man plopped himself down and started picking through the remains of Clementine's breakfast.

"So, you wanna give a friend some details? Or should we swap stories? I'm sure we have a lot to talk about."

Clementine glared at Dion out of the corner of his eye. His smile wavered.

* * *

The morning went better than Cara expected. After their talk she sat her father down and made them both breakfast of eggs and bacon. He went quiet after a while. It was only natural. They hadn't spent this much time together in years. In truth, she was equally frightened. This wasn't the first time they tried reconciliation. There had been other attempts. Peace talks just like the one they had this morning. It never lasted the day. Her father wasn't always to blame either. She shared just as much responsibility for wrecking those truces.

Still, something felt different about today. The silence at least meant they weren't fighting. If it could only survive the day, then maybe there was hope. Cara's thoughts were interrupted by the banging at their front door.

"Help!" shouted someone outside.

Cara and her father exchanged confused looks before rushing to the door. She opened it, coming face to face with two lumber mill workers carrying a third unconscious person between them. At first, she didn't recognize him. Not with his face so bloodied.

Cara waved them inside, "Get him on the bed."

The two of them dragged the beaten Dion into Declan's room and laid him out on the bed. They both made way for Cara, retreating to the back of the doorway where her father lingered. Cara quickly soaked a cloth and wiped the blood away to get a better look. Dion's face was battered beyond recognition. His lip was split, and bits of glass were caught in his hair.

"What in the world happened?"

"The cripple…Dion was just messing with him. Playing around and he just…Just snapped."

Cara shot a venomous glare at the both of them, "Run to Yegor's, borrow some ice from his freezers."

"Will he be alright?"

"He'll live," when they still didn't move she rounded on them, "Go. Now!"

The two of them scampered off, heading towards Yegor's butcher shop. When they were gone Cara's father stepped forward and peered down at Dion.

"That isn't self-defense."

Cara clenched her fists, "I know."

"He'll live, but he won't be pretty. You're not needed here. Go, I'll take care of this."

"He needs ice to stop the swelling."

"And they're getting it. You want to go to him. So go."

Cara darted out the door, stopping before she ran out of sight. She looked back at her dad over her shoulder.

"Thank you, father."

Cara savored the touched look in his face before breaking into a sprint. She raced to the Honeydrip as fast as she could, earning her odd looks from those she zoomed past. Motion from the stables caught her eye and she skidded to a stop. There, hidden in the shadows, Clementine saddled his horse. He appeared dressed for the road with an overcoat and boots. All his belongings were strapped to Vern's back. The beast was the first to notice her. Vern blinked up at Cara with indifferent eyes. Even after all the days Cara spent tending to the animal it still looked upon her with no sense of recognition. Clementine followed Vern's stare to where she stood in the entranceway. His lips parted upon spotting her, but whatever words were about to tumble out he bit back.

Cara approached him, "You're leaving?"

Clementine resumed packing his saddlebags, "You knew I wasn't going to stay. I can't stay."

"But you're injuries-"

"I'll be fine. Made a transaction with the innkeeper. He has payment waiting for you inside. Should cover the trouble I've caused."

"Fuck do I care about payment? Is this about what happened with Dion? What did he say to you?"

"Nothing worth repeating."

"Tell me," she demanded.

"You don't want to hear it."

In truth, Cara knew what was likely said. It wouldn't have been the first time her name had been slandered. Dion never lost his childish cruelty. If he wasn't happy he didn't think anyone else deserved to be. Still, Cara couldn't quite believe his prodding could've provoked Clementine to such an extent.

"I need to know what he said. To make sense of what I saw."

"Nothing I tell you will make sense of any of this. Dion," Clementine's hands balled into fists, their knuckles stained with blood, "Dion was a reminder."

"A reminder of what?"

"Who I am. What I've done. What I have yet to do."

"I don't understand."

His shoulders sagged as if burdened with a heavy weight, "I have a friend. She's out there somewhere, putting her life in danger because of what I've started. Cara, I'm not what you think I am. I've done…terrible things."

Cara shuddered at the broken tone of his voice, "We all have. That's just the world we live in."

"No, not like me. I'm _special_ ," he spat out the word with disgust, "People see great potential in me. A future of possibilities. But you know what? I can't see it. My past blinds me to what's ahead. I lost people I've loved. Lied to those who trusted me. Watched people I've admired die right before my eyes. After all that, I deserve no rest. Not until I find her and tell her the truth."

Cara struggled to come to terms with all that she heard. She knew his past was a checkered one, but the conflict within him proved far greater than she could have ever imagined. It almost beggared belief the words he spoke. However, the truth was painfully clear in those deep purple eyes. No wonder he didn't look away from her. He'd already seen such grisly sights before. Cara wanted nothing more than to console him. To hold him tight like she did the night before, if only just so he couldn't leave.

"I understand," she struggled with the words, "Your friend is in trouble and needs your help. I would do the same in your position. But let me ask you this…What will you do when you find her?"

Clementine leaned against Vern as if the question knocked him off balance, "Honestly, I have no idea. I doubt she even wants me to find her."

"Then why bother?"

"She needs to know. I _need_ to tell her."

"And there's nothing I can do to stop you?"

"Come with me," he pleaded.

"I can't," it killed her to say those two words, "I know you don't understand, but I'm just starting to rebuild things here with my dad."

His smile gave way to a grimace, "Promise me something then, will you?"

"What?"

"Don't throw away your life for these people."

Clementine pulled himself into the saddle, swinging his crippled leg over the rump of his horse.

Cara seized hold of Vern's reins, "Promise me something in return? When you find your friend and come to terms with whatever it is between the two of you…Come back. I'll be here."

Clementine's jaw hung open momentarily before regaining his resolve, "I promise. Goodbye, Cara."

With a whistle and a light kick to the flanks, Vern stuttered forward at a leisurely pace. Cara stepped aside allowing them to pass. She couldn't muster the strength to say goodbye. The reins slipped from her fingers. Cara watched them go until they disappeared out of sight of Tricklewood. Long after they were gone she remained standing in the muddied stable entranceway. Her legs quivered, threatening to buckle. The thought of never seeing him again crossed her mind despite her best efforts to remain calm.

There would be a time to dwell, but Cara resolved to delay. She had a drunken, grief torn father and a severely beaten idiot to tend to. Life, it seemed, was already returning to normal.

* * *

Vern crossed the stream, its water reaching the horse's knees. Clementine fought the urge to look back for he knew Cara watched on. If they locked eyes once again there was no telling what either of them would do.

Cara tugged on Clementine's soul like no other. Already he longed for her company. But he knew he had to leave. If he stayed, things would've only gotten worse. They always did wherever he went. It was only a matter of time. With Refuge it took years. With the Oaks family it was but one night. He wouldn't dare put Cara in any further danger. She suffered enough.

A light breeze tugged at his cloak. Once again Clementine traveled the open road, heading south. He lost a lot of time and distance. Not that he even knew where he was going. He simply chased rumors. The most recent being a story of how a crew of slavers were kicked in the teeth. Those few who survived spoke of a single faunus responsible for the attack. One with a panther's tail. But that was weeks ago. Kiera could be anywhere by now. But if she continued on her path as he knew she would then all Clementine had to do was follow the bodies.


End file.
